On Holiday

It is cold here in Chicago,butluckily,thereis no snow.I haven't read much yet, only chased children and drank beer. I have reached p.100 of Catch-22 and am impressed by its rigid core,out of which seeps the layered humor that delineates and skews so effectively. Europe Central continues to haunt,it is a moribund text, one that affords Mitya Shostakovich as Virgil into a dreary zone of enforced official joy and a ruthless settling of accountability.