Multiple Strikes

It has been a hectic weekend with ample reading being the primary victim. I did snuggle up with the Dombrovsky during the wee hours Friday night, the novel's denoument in the tiagra, is not happy bedtime material. One feel's lucky, and, especially, warm, in such instances. That said, it could happen that I will finish the novel tomorrow. The chief obstacle on this dreary Sabbath is the remaining 10 hours of Heimat, a 15.5 hour German saga about the fate of the Fatherland from 1919 to 1982. The photography and editing are supreme and the half-dozen plot lines remain taut and compelling.

We went to the Louisville Free Public Library book sale yesterday and the fare was thin, appearing to have been pillaged before our arrival. I did buy two tomes by William Gay, who I read for the first time, earlier this year. We then went to see harold, who was a flashpoint of ideas about Mao, American sanctioned-toture and Tennessee Williams. I bought a good copy of You Can't Go Home Again by Wolfe.

The cover review on the Book Review today is a collossal indictment of Mao, the married couple who authored the work were on Fresh Aire last week. Scanning the warm review, one becomes lost in the abstraction of policy on China's level. When utilizing wave attacks in the Korean War served as a (comparitively efficienty) means of purging Nationalist elements and boosted home morale: well, then why not send a few million screaming into the hornets' nest of dogface machine guns?