New Month

Same headaches, drainage and other nasty rot. I am home today, much like yesterday. I had thought of continuing the Vollmann vein begun on Friday evening and explore Fathers and Crows. This appeared to be a conducive time, especially givent he overlap of the subject matter historically with that Burton's Anatomy.

That was washed away in the form of 1001 Books You Must Read Before You Die. This was dropped off by my friend Frank and it threw me for quite a turn, absorbing me with anger and awe largely through Saturday evening proper. My concentration obliterated and my attentions shifted away from what I thought wanted to read and towards what I should be reading (this whole shift recalls a conversation i had with Eric Summers about ten years ago. that in itself is now sow overconfigured with irony and switchback allusion that I need not bother with such contortions nor the memory thereof) and alas I am now plunging ahead into the Pickwick Papers. This may be a surprising endeavor but 2006 is standing towards a distinction of the year of English Literature given my involvement with Barnes, Burton and Boswell - thus far, anyway. I do suspect a return to Burgess (to maintain alliteration, anyway) and Eyeless in Gaza by Huxley. Perhaps Durrell will also be explored. I am thinking of only taking British novels abroad this summer, perhaps Powell.
Perhaps.