Us readers, we read this book for the experimental fiction class which us readers take together which is in a room in which a class is held. Us readers, some of us liked it. Us readers, some of us didn’t. Us readers don’t agree on much. Us readers, sometimes we fight like cats. Other times we disagree like dogs.
What us readers who were not disturbed by the stories of the good brothers want you to remember is that these stories they are not dead-ends. There are no do-not-go-any-further-points in these stories of the good brothers. What us readers who were not disturbed by the stories want you other readers to take away, what us readers want you readers to know is that these stories are what you make of them. They are stories of mud and mud of stories. There are fish and boys that become fish and there is Girl who is a mother, mountain, sister, tree, moon, and lover. They are stories of what you dream and fear and hope. They are stories that only make sense if you don’t want them to make sense, they are stories that complement and contradict one another.
In this book of the brothers there are stories that made us readers happy, there are sections that made us readers sad or concerned, and there are parts that made us readers want to shake our heads and say, “Us readers, we understand.”
Us readers, we know what you brothers mean when you say that when you dive into the moon it shatters into a billion pieces and when you say, “Each broken chunk becomes a star”. Us readers, we also look for the stars that are falling and imagine them to be, “a burning match-stick, a still-lit cigarette flicked out of the window of a speeding car”. Us readers, we’ve had these feelings and with the help of you good brothers we know now what they mean.
Good, Peter Markus.