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You can understand why a system would seek information - but why in hell does it offer information? Why do we strive to be understood? Why is a refusal to accept communication so painful?

Alice Sheldon

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The Other Phase Of The MOON: Visit the project’s site
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The Moon is "Full"

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washingtonpost.com - Bookstores, book reviews and events in Washington, DC, Virginia and Maryland - washingtonpost.com
Search Washington, DC area books events, reviews and bookstores from the Washington Post. Features DC, Virginia and Maryland entertainment listings for bookstores and books events. Visit http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/print/bookworld today.

washingtonpost.com
  • Heroes Once More
    ROME 1960 The Olympics That Changed the World By David Maraniss



  • Fall from Grace
    THE EAVES OF HEAVEN A Life in Three Wars By Andrew X. Pham



  • View From the Summit
    A WRITER'S PEOPLE Ways of Looking and Feeling By V.S. Naipaul



  • Odd Couples
    In 2000, Veryl Goodnight and Roger Brooks welcomed a most unusual guest into their Santa Fe home: a baby buffalo.



  • Poet's Choice
    I once heard our current poet laureate, Charles Simic, tell a story about his mother in the war-ravaged Yugoslavia of his youth.



  • Literary Calendar
    6:30 P.M. Max Sherman , former dean of the Lyndon B. Johnson School of Public Affairs at the University of Texas at Austin, discusses his recent book, Barbara Jordan: Speaking the Truth with Eloquent Thunder (Sherman was a longtime friend of Jordan from their days in the Texas state senate), at...



  • Letters
    Alexandra Fuller's review (Book World, July 6, 2008) of Rick Bass's Why I Came West spent more time talking about the heroic work of Nigeria's Ken Saro-Wiwa than about Bass's book. Saro-Wiwa's legacy is clearly something the world should honor, and Fuller's review probably alerted people like me to...



  • Verse of the Turtle
    More than a decade and a half ago, despairing that her poems would ever find an audience, Kay Ryan found herself writing one about a turtle. It was about as personal as a Kay Ryan poem ever gets.