Fit Closure

It begs uneasy questions that Foote concludes his second volume of the Civil War Narrative with Grant being elevated to command the Union forces and his friend Sherman beginning his scorched erath towards Atalnta. I read the remaining 300 pages during the latter part fo thsi holiday weekend and feel rewarded by its benefit, its narrative glance at something, still, so pertinant. I began this blog almost exactly a year ago, falling full-steam into the Foote phenomenon, much enkindled by a nation gone mad, there was cpmopfrt that people had always been reptile and immune to enlightenment and that illegal wars notwithstanding, there was at least the grace and loquacity of Mr Foote to steer the ride.

Since that time, Mr Foote has trundled off into the mist and I have only read the first two thirds of his Narrative, I have since discovered his novels and have enjoyed his interviews and correspondence withfriends and colleagues. I have also embraced Orwell, for despite my naive assertions, there is a demand for such honestly moreso than ever. Even fence-setters as Hitchems, for such, ultimately is his perch, have been of comfort and ammunition over the past year. It the behemoth of William Vollmann that I have shuddered if only to embrace. His piece in last Sunday's Times is remarkable, an even handed swath that captures us in all our folly, our avarice and our infrequent attempts at being generous. It is now time for colder climes.