I returned home from Pennsylvania last night to a happy dog and a thick stack of unread mail, which included the new Quill & Quire, containing their fall preview, which they plug as a run-down of “the season’s most notable books.”
And I was pleased to note that, along with the notable books, they included mine. In fact, they did a nice sidebar on it, calling it “a contemporary novel with an edge.”
Naturally, I was very pleased with that treatment.
Then the dog announced that she was not interested in such diversions by nipping me smartly in the ankle.
I’m not so sure about being edgy, though. That is to say, I never set out to be edgy, as some people seem to. The problem with doing that is you get into a race to the edge; if you’re gonna call yourself edgy, you have to be edgier than all the other people who are calling themselves edgy. And if you race to the edge, you risk falling off.
I’m afraid of heights, and therefore never race to the edge.