On page 535 of DeLillo’s Underworld. Aside from the hanging chad, no one ends a chapter like this guy.
I’m working on an audioguide for the Schiller National Museum in Marbach, Germany. This is a bust created by Schiller’s friend Johann Heinrich Danneker. I did not know Schiller had such rizz.
I didn’t know if I should go book hunting today, but then I found a signed Margaret Atwood and was pretty sure it was a good idea.
I found a signed Martin Amis for a buck yesterday. It’s a paperback, it’s falling apart, it’s not worth any lucre, but I have Martin Amis’s handwriting in my house now.
I think I’ll be doing a write-up of this Salter for a regional email newsletter mostly because, when grabbing it greedily last week, I ran into the woman responsible for that free library. It’d be nice to take it full circle. You know, encourage greed.
I’m sick of social media, the trolling and the take-downs (for something as straightforward as reading and buying books), the idiocy.
I’m reading something great. I’ll be back as soon as (if) the need to connect overtakes the need to be on firm footing.
Spent most of the day with this novel, start to finish. It has a hungry current, has love for its subjects, has intrigue, has also clarity and space…it absolutely rips.
I can’t decide on this Booker-shortlister yet, though at 30 pages, I’m farther in than I got with either Strout or Stuart. It feels cold and easy, but like there might be a twist or some authentic darkness in store.
On roses—
Rilke: “That one should open like an eye, / to show more lids … to quench / an inner fire of visionary power.”
Anne Carson: “They stood up straight and pure on the stalk, gripping the dark like prophets / and howling colossal intimacies ...”
To do laundry (visible) and clean the kitchen cupboards or read this puppy I THINK YOU KNOW MY CHOICE.
















