The experience of time translates itself into language, and language translates itself into distance, which translates itself into longing, which is the realization of time. (…) how sad and strange that I, Jenny Boully, should be the sign of a signifier or the signifier of a sign, moreover, the sign of a signifier searching for the signifies.
Sometimes texts just catch me, without me being able to explain why. But if I, in spite of my incapability, should try to find words for my enthusiasm for The Body I will choose sentences like:
- I love how the narrator moves rapidly around in her own text
- I love the combination of literary high & low
- I like the way the narrator makes fun of herself
- I love the way she lays herself bare, the rawness of it
- I like the genre-breaking-quality; calling it an essay, when in fact it is poetry written as footnotes – or isn’t it?!