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Shadenfreude, where the shade doesn't refer to anybody actually feeling bad about anything

I have at least two notes to write about library shelving, but neither of them will accommodate my glee at this particular bit of news. YHB’s new library—remember YHB’s new library?—not only has shelved Oryx and Crake in the out-of-the-way little neighborhood by the factory where all the speculative fiction books reside, but has actually placed a prominent sticker on the spine of the book that reads Sci-Fi.

You’re skiffy, Margaret Atwood, skiffy! You hear me?

Tolerabimus quod tolerare debemus,


I'm sorry, was that in some way in doubt? Since when was Margaret Atwood not sciffy?

Or, perhaps more precisely, some subset of Margaret Atwood's writing. I don't mean to imply that Ms. Atwood, herself, is sciffy. I'm sure she bathes.


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