yesterday I managed the remarkable feat of pulling myself out of a week-long reading slump by falling for the THREE BOOKS I started reading.
I read the first couple chapters of The Adventures of Sindbad, really loved the first half of We The Animals (still surprised I’m loving this one, it’s throwing me for a loop) and I’m currently immersed in Lady Sings the Blues, which is absolutely loaded with the word Bitch.
Billie Holiday was apparently surrounded by bitches and hoes throughout the majority of her childhood, and was never too shy to call them out.
now I know what I’m reading for the next week.
A straining sensation, a feeling of pressure, a cracking sound, and a terrific wrench… this process was repeated many times. Each cracking sound reminded me of taking the lid off a jam-jar, while the process as a whole was like splitting open a wooden packing-case, plank by plank.
“
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if anyone wanted to know what it was like to be conscious during brain surgery in the 30’s, here you go.
(from A Journey Round My Skull by Frigyes Karinthy)
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A poet friend of mine explained my predicament rather vaguely by saying that ‘I was trying to find myself’. He may have been right. But if so, who is this self? Where shall I discover him amongst the many who cross my path, and by what sign shall he be known to me?
from Borges’ prologue to The Invention of Morel by Adolfo Bioy Casares,
“I have discussed with the author the details of his plot. I have reread it. To classify it as perfect is neither an imprecision nor a hyperbole.”
That’s a pretty grand recommendation of the book.
also, a quote attributed to Dante Gabriel Rossetti,
I have been here before,
But when or how I cannot tell:
I know the grass beyond the door,
The sweet keen smell,
The sighing sound, the lights around the shore.
which I just think is super pretty.
currently reading.
I think I’m on a NYRB kick, Clandestine in Chile was great.
reading this now. not quite sure what to think of it yet. it’s really long and the writing style just makes it seem longer. but the first chapter was just so good.
Ringolevio by Emmett Grogan
oh yeah.
So I did this thing where I built these bookshelves which are totally awesome.
I used the router my mum sent me for christmas to set the shelves into the supports and only used glue and nails to hold it together so there aren’t any ugly screw holes. I even rubbed a coat of tung oil into them as a simple finish that didn’t change the look of the wood much.
I deliberately made more shelf space than I had books to fill, so I’d have some space to grow, but now it’s looking pretty daunting and empty. I need some more books.
my room feels so much more complete now!
The World As I Found It by Bruce Duffy
so now I’m reading this book because we’re discussing it at the next Dog Eared NYRB Salon (along with Pinocchio by Carlo Collodi) and because it comes on great recommendation.
plus, it is most certainly an Old Man Book - which are tons of fun, you know.
an Old Man Book about homosexual philosophers and their tortured relationships with each other and with the twentieth century.
I’m seriously hooked.
I just read 3 chapters on trying to get a bitch laid.
that bitch being a dog named Tulip. 3 chapters on how frustrating it is to get a proper mate for your dog, a particularly particular dog, complete with words like “bitch” and “tumescence” and “mount”.
I really never saw this coming. I never thought this would be a thing I do during my life.
Currently reading.
My Dog Tulip by J R Ackerley
I never thought I’d be interested in reading a book about a dog, but it’s definitely engaging.
I don’t want a future, I want a present. To me this appears of greater value. You have a future only when you have no present, and when you have a present, you forget to even think about the future.
Currently reading, sorta. I’m still on the introduction. I’m busy!
Dancing Lessons for the Advanced in Age by Bohumil Hrabal
Green Apple Books is by far the coolest bookstore I’ve ever been to.
I’m sorry, Downtown Books; deepest apologies, Booked Up; it pains me to say this, Book Loft; please forgive me, Myopic. To all the other great bookstores out there, whether I’ve met you or not, you’ve got a lot to live up to. There’s just no denying it.
I picked up a copy of Vasily Grossman’s Life & Fate for five bucks!
but the penultimate reason for earning my undying love is that, after two years of searching, I finally stumbled upon a copy of The Colour Out of Space: Tales of Cosmic Horror! this deserves more exclamation points, but I’ll behave myself.
In other news, I gave the gentleman behind the counter my resume and I’m not prepared to leave this city until I’ve had the privilege of working with Green Apple.
done.
