I finished rereading Tatham Mound by Piers Anthony this afternoon. This is one of the few books that have actually had me tearing up while reading them. And I’ve read many, many, man-eee books. It basically recounts the entire life of a Native American who witnesses the first wave of the eradication of his culture. I think I first read it when I was 11 or so. Come to think, my reading habits may explain a lot about what a fucked-up kid I was. Anyway, the most depressing part, at least this time, was the author’s notes at the end. To be presented with the uncloaked personality of the author, which I can only classify as repellent, after reading such a tale… It makes you want to act out that great quote about throwing the book aside with great force. Ugh.