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about some books
Oct. 19th, 2014 08:42 pmNice Sunday-night thing to do, post a books entry. So many other things I should be writing, or cleaning, or reading -- but I will tell you about some books.
I've read more books this year than last year, according to my GoodReads page, which is there only for the purpose of self-congratulation / self-flagellation and accounting -- although last year I didn't count all the books I read for reviewing, and this year I did.
I've read a lot of novels lately, despite the new job -- or rather because of it. I have an almost violent urge for cognitive escape, not because things are bad but because they are so overwhelming. I need to make my brain do Something Else, which Else is largely made up of midcentury novels by potty British authors. And rare perfumes.
I've burned through most of Penelope Fitzgerald. I can't get into The Blue Flower -- I know it's supposed to be the best one, but it seems so dry. The Beginning of Spring is my favorite. The brilliantly funny and dangerous prewar Russian setting.
Then a couple of the-other-Elizabeth-Taylors chosen at random -- A View of the Harbour sending me on a search for books about the UK seaside, which resulted in a recommendation for J.G. Farrell's Troubles, which may be the best book I've read this year.
Nothing I've read so far this year is a patch on either Satantango or The Hour of the Star, and I'm aware that this is because I haven't really challenged myself to read anything that experimental or style-driven. I mean there was Proust, but The Guermantes Way was the hard work without the world-sundering joy.
Vita Sackville-West's All Passion Spent -- that was only all right. A good idea for a book but not actually all that good a book. A bunch of graphic novels, too, more or less at random.
I notice that my "to read" books are mostly cooler and more difficult than my actually read ones. I suppose it's good to be confronted with the gap between my Ego-ideal and my... me.
Q: Have you noticed that reading a less difficult book at the same time as a challenging one can sort of boost the signal, so that the difficult book reads more smoothly?
- - - - - -
Last poetry group but one we spent two and a half hours solving the first nine of Rilke's Sonnets to Orpheus like equations of the psyche. I think we all found it very rewarding -- very very close reading of our variant translations plus M's rusty German. As of this summer you can order a beer at the Solstice Cafe, so it's now perfect.
This time -- August-hot October day, no beer -- it was Baudelaire, and also very rich, but two new LOUD GUYS who took up SO MUCH SPACE showed up. One did have smart words in him, and he seemed to work out over the course of the conversation that sharing was good. The other was a pain in the ass. I was so overstimulated by the end from trying to wedge in something resembling equal conversational space for everyone around the table that I had to talk myself down from the anxiety for the next half-hour.
Ok gym. Swim some laps, try to burn through some work anxiety.
{rf}
I've read more books this year than last year, according to my GoodReads page, which is there only for the purpose of self-congratulation / self-flagellation and accounting -- although last year I didn't count all the books I read for reviewing, and this year I did.
I've read a lot of novels lately, despite the new job -- or rather because of it. I have an almost violent urge for cognitive escape, not because things are bad but because they are so overwhelming. I need to make my brain do Something Else, which Else is largely made up of midcentury novels by potty British authors. And rare perfumes.
I've burned through most of Penelope Fitzgerald. I can't get into The Blue Flower -- I know it's supposed to be the best one, but it seems so dry. The Beginning of Spring is my favorite. The brilliantly funny and dangerous prewar Russian setting.
Then a couple of the-other-Elizabeth-Taylors chosen at random -- A View of the Harbour sending me on a search for books about the UK seaside, which resulted in a recommendation for J.G. Farrell's Troubles, which may be the best book I've read this year.
Nothing I've read so far this year is a patch on either Satantango or The Hour of the Star, and I'm aware that this is because I haven't really challenged myself to read anything that experimental or style-driven. I mean there was Proust, but The Guermantes Way was the hard work without the world-sundering joy.
Vita Sackville-West's All Passion Spent -- that was only all right. A good idea for a book but not actually all that good a book. A bunch of graphic novels, too, more or less at random.
I notice that my "to read" books are mostly cooler and more difficult than my actually read ones. I suppose it's good to be confronted with the gap between my Ego-ideal and my... me.
Q: Have you noticed that reading a less difficult book at the same time as a challenging one can sort of boost the signal, so that the difficult book reads more smoothly?
- - - - - -
Last poetry group but one we spent two and a half hours solving the first nine of Rilke's Sonnets to Orpheus like equations of the psyche. I think we all found it very rewarding -- very very close reading of our variant translations plus M's rusty German. As of this summer you can order a beer at the Solstice Cafe, so it's now perfect.
This time -- August-hot October day, no beer -- it was Baudelaire, and also very rich, but two new LOUD GUYS who took up SO MUCH SPACE showed up. One did have smart words in him, and he seemed to work out over the course of the conversation that sharing was good. The other was a pain in the ass. I was so overstimulated by the end from trying to wedge in something resembling equal conversational space for everyone around the table that I had to talk myself down from the anxiety for the next half-hour.
Ok gym. Swim some laps, try to burn through some work anxiety.
{rf}
