Harold Rhenisch, Out of the Interior
I'm not going to over-think it just yet*, but recently I've been finding myself drawn back to older books, ones that have felt something like touchstones, and it has been interesting to find which of those I've never written about. This week, after reading it once again (while I should've been focused utterly on my traditional August course development), I realized that somehow I hadn't ever posted about Out of the Interior , Harold Rhenisch's first book of prose, if indeed it's prose, and I don't think Harold would care very much how I'd characterize its form anyway. Some years ago, I was lucky enough to supervise an honours project on Rhenisch's book Tom Thomson's Shack , which I've seen him at least once describe as a sequel to Out of the Interior . I've written about Tom Thomson's Shack more than once (academically, but also bloggily once , twice , thrice , though without ever quite being able to say what I mean), I've r
