I had the singularly dis/en-couraging experience of getting well into writing an essay in the wee hours of the morning and then, at lunch, opening up the 4th chapter of Elvia Wilk’s Death by Landscape: Essays and reading nearly what I had written. Different anecdotes, different style, exact same message. Even many of the same words. Which was just plain eerie. And shows either the limits of English or the extreme similarity of thought and experience among the radical book nerd set. (Probably both…)
In any case, I believe I will shelve the essay and concentrate on finishing the book. That way I can talk about all the other wonderful things in it.