Quarrymen dig, so I opened my bloodline and did just that. And I exhumed all the words I could not say. Or face. The epiphany to excavate myself came one morning around 4 a.m., when I typically have my most honest moments. It was not a bolt of lightning but rather a spark. In the receding silky darkness, I laid in dynamite, struck a match, and blasted my comfortable and confining crypt to hell, a trail of teeth, shards, and shrapnel, my result. And I kept digging, frantically. I was living a subterranean life—the faces, the voices, the eyes, and their heavy breathing jangled angry, a mountain of pennies in my lungs. Breathing was labor.The practice of burying me was methodical, mechanical. The only exchanges I was having were with myself. I was a cluttered labyrinth with no distinguishable door nor window, a seamless box, nested in countless boxes, fashioned by my careful hands, padlocked, and plunged into a hole, paved shut. Like a hoarders’ heaven (haven), I collected and stacked and cataloged exchanges, unwritten letters, tender tidings, retorts, tirades, confessions, and gory screeds. A lifetime’s worth, or so it seemed. And now I rise, each page of this book a slug of new air. Fresh, above ground.

Nothing to hide. Memories and magic recovered, Frey is restored to the throne. But as she works to regain control of the North, a small silver dagger nearly brings her end. Someone wants her dead. She raises the Seven of her guard and proves her abilities in order to secure her position. But another attempt on her life, from what appears to be fey, reveals not all are pleased with her return. She'll have to find them first. If she could only figure out the force behind the attacks, she might be able to relax enough to decide what to do about her other problem... Chevelle.

These widely acclaimed essays from the author of Infinite Jest -- on television, tennis, cruise ships, and more -- established David Foster Wallace as one of the preeminent essayists of his generation. In this exuberantly praised book -- a collection of seven pieces on subjects ranging from television to tennis, from the Illinois State Fair to the films of David Lynch, from postmodern literary theory to the supposed fun of traveling aboard a Caribbean luxury cruiseliner -- David Foster Wallace brings to nonfiction the same curiosity, hilarity, and exhilarating verbal facility that has delighted readers of his fiction, including the bestselling Infinite Jest.

Over the past few years we have been living in challenging times. What with Covid-19, Climate change, and visits from uninvited Mothers-in-Law. We human beings have an innate resilience to overcome such adversities. Humour is one of our most effective tools, even the Germans have been known to use it. In this collection I poke fun at Parents, Siblings, In-Laws, Politicians, and dangerously, even Royalty. I will take you into the realm of a dysfunctional family doing all they can to hamper the attempts of their eldest daughter, Marie, to find love. It might be wise to enjoy this collection in private as people tend to look at you strangely if you burst out laughing in public. Enjoy.