An Even Dozen

I finished my 12th book of this young year yesterday. Jonathan Safran Foer's 2d novel was put to rest as I rec'd an advance reader's copy from Randy. I found a reserved, imaginative approach to the attack on the World Trade Center; eschewing popular rhetoric, the novel is heartfelt and honest in its looping of that sorrowful day into alonger, more tiresome narrative: a song that reminds us constantly of the baser natures of this noble species.

My relationship to Foer extends back to sunny days in the streets of Belgrade as I was shocked to discover a new copy of his first novel Everything is Illuminated in Beograd's wonderful Plato bookshop. I recall reading it on the flight back across Europe and then the Atlantic, perhaps sobbing from my own life's parabola, and completing it back here in the breadbasket of Southern Indiana.

I have spent the day, preparing for tomorrow's trip to Memphis and Oxford. I have also been watching Ken Burns' Civil war again and have yet to devote any significant time to Thomas Mann.