A Stillness Chipped

Everything in nature is lyrical in its ideal essence; tragic in its fate, and comic in its existence. George Santayana

The pomp and triumph of he World Cup have made reading difficult. I did finish the possibility of an Island last weekend. I thought the reviewer who likened it more to Tournier than the traditional Camus-associations was much more in the right postal code. It is also remarkable that I believe I found the science fictional aspects of the novel more engaging that the contemporary denouement, that said, I found the likening of a comic as philosopher reminiscent of Roth's Professor of Desire.

I toted around the slim volume of Garcia Marquez's Memories of My Melancholy Whores for a few days to various sites for football, the title elcitied interest from the pervs in every retinue. I finally devoted a hour after cycling yesterday to this minor victory. I agree with my wife that it establishes a trust with the reader by stopping short of consummation.

I now feel at a loss as where to go next. I have the pressing business of the Burton, both of them actually. I remain uncertain.