In the Washington State University library, her version of Sherwood Forest, Corliss walked the poetry stacks. She endured a contentious and passionate relationship with this library. The huge number of books confirmed how much magic she’d been denied for most of her life, and now she hungrily wanted to read every book on the shelf. An impossible task, to be sure, Herculean in its exaggeration, but Corliss wanted to read herself to death. She wanted to be buried in a coffin filled with used paperbacks.
From Sherman Alexie, “The Search Engine,” p. 5, in Ten Little Indians.
There are nine stories in the book. “Nine is a much funnier number than eleven.” True enough. Eleven is dogmatically prime and kinda tries too hard, whereas nine is two primes, like his character Jackson squared, someone also down with the idea of ceremony (a word that appears frequently in characters’ internal monologues).
Also great: more than one absurdist love story about basketball.
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