RIP Mr. Barth. I carried a dog eared copy of Lost in the Funhouse with me through 20 years of my life, picking it up and putting it down whenever I needed some

RIP Mr. Barth. I carried a dog eared copy of Lost in the Funhouse with me through 20 years of my life, picking it up and putting it down whenever I needed something to shift my perspective or jar me out of a rut. Psychoactive writing at its best, the titular story is so transpositional that sometimes I feel like that family trip to the beach was a real memory that actually happened to me.