GR translation: deliciously on

[alice wellintown]

Delicious fiction conjures images of an obese female, fat fingers, a
vice grip on the binding of a bodice ripping barn burner, flipping
pages and shovelling sweets in chubby cheeks while sucking on a 650
calorie coffee, three squirts of chocolate and steamed cream, now
peeping over the top her scrumptious and salivating. Is it you? No,
though never satisfied, her appetite for the delicious is satiated
with fiction and food. Give her Lot49 and she will hate you. How it
titillates and stimulates. How it dangles the delicious bells before
her salivary glands.



Reminds me that Pynchon seems to make fun of Gaddid's fear of the
female reader, his disdain for the critics. M&D