My Book Is Not Racist

10 Nov
Yo, did I tell you guys I’m reading a book this week? Well I is! It’s called “The Devil in the White City,” which makes me about 13% more uncomfortable than usual when reading it on the train.

I have two confessions to make related to this choice. The first is that I’ve actually had it for at least a year, but only decided to read it this week because I saw that Leonardo DiCaprio is playing one of the main characters in a movie adaptation. That’s right ladies and gentlemen, all this masquerading as an intellectual is actually an excuse for me to feel closer to celebrities.

The second confession is that even though I’ve actually had it for a year, until I took “The Devil in the White City” off of my shelf on Sunday, I thought it was a novel. Turns out, it’s historical nonfiction. Who knew! The book follows the lives of two men in 1890’s Chicago, one the lead architect for the World’s Fair taking place that year, and the other a serial killer preying on women in the same city. That makes me feel a little bit better about having thought it was fiction.

Also it’s got one one of those silver sticker things. I repeat: I’m an intellectual.

PS: I’m experimenting with putting book names in quotes instead of italics, 12% because it’s what all the cool kids are doing and 88% because it’s easier. (Have you guys noticed how many more unnecessary statistics I’m using since I finished “Proofiness”?) I have to say I feel stylistically liberated, like the first time I abbreviated “obvious” as “obvi” without being totally ironic.

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