Tuesday, April 12, 2005


I have wanted to peruse a notebook I kept as reading diary for soemtime now. The journal began in earyl 97 and concluded soemtime in early 2001. It is rathe rinexact and doesn't approach directly any of the trainwrecks which constitute my life at these times. It is sadly more abstract than I thought, there are few direct citations though the below is from Ulysses which I was reading the day I visited the Vatican. I have never completed the novel, though in '94 I made it past the midpoint.

My soul walks with me, form of forms, so in the moon's midwatches I pace the path above the rocks, in sable silvered, hearing Elsinore's tempting flood. (p.44)

I noted on samizdat about my impressions of the Catton, how he is a Hemingway to Foote's Proust. It is upon Antietam that Catton unveils his verve:

As the line reached this high place the officersback at headquarters got anothe rlook at the deceitful pageantry of war: broad, oderly linesof infantry going on in the sunlight, tiny puff balls of smoke appearing around the house as the Rebel skirmishers went into action, battle flags making high lights of gay color, officers posturing on their horses with glinting swords, a battery of artillery riding up fast and unlimbering dramatically; all very fine and bloodless looking, just like the colored lithographs. (290-291)

My reading has been too skattered thus far this week. I have been reading from Vollmann, his collection Atlas and some Diamond here and there but i need something to demand with with white-knuckled urgency.


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