Forgive me, cybervoid, for my deplorable inattention. A recently-procared copy-editang jab has slowed my reading somewhat, so not much to report there -- However, been reading the Illusion of Life at free moments. The writing, to put a none-too-fine point on it, is lousy: lots (I mean lots lots, multiple-times-a-page-lots) of hilariously hackneyed references to "Walt" (it's invariably "Walt") and his supernatural ability to harness people's creative energies, lots of redundancies, lots of fascinating anecdotes told in the least-fascinating way possible, lots of stylistic booboos. All that, and lots more.
All of which just makes this book even more amazing for what it manages to do: it imparts just a bit of the kind of creative electricity that spawned all the classic Disney originals - Snow White, Pinocchio, Dumbo, Bambi. Something about this book (perhaps its rugged, rough-draft has something to do with it?) makes it experiential in a very special way. It's rather inspiring, actually. I just pictured inspiring as a bolt of energy swirling up a spire. Spire is an odd word. Spear, spar, spire, spore, spare, spur.
Anyway, add the fact that this book is one of the most nicely produced I've ever seen (glossy pictures oo la la) and how cheap it is, and its a winwhinnygoround.
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