Les Plesko (1954–2013)

I loved this book which felt sort of like a redemption of the idea of Breton's Nadja-- the girl tells her own story, here. It reads like a version of my own story, as well-- that of a girl who lived to a perilous degree in ideation rather than action, but acted anyway. The landscape's LA, but the real terrain is that imagined territory of a loved other, so various, so beautiful, so new, until it begins to grow as familiar as one's own neighborhood of despair. This book, though, is an unusually jaunty and cheerful account of this process, and wonderfully, is illustrated by black and white photos of the girl who tells the tale.… (meer)