Uncertain Crabwalks

I have finished a couple of books within the past few days, battling body ache a medicated haze, I don't feel necessarily accomplished but I have enjoyed significant stretches of Overthrow, the Crossing and a high school-type primer about the origins of Venice and Genoa. The last text was also resplendent with a host of amazing lithographs. Overthrow provided daubs of color and personable detail to an already familiar narrative. I appreciate its loan. The McCarthy was not as bland as I had expected, but it has succeeded in engendering an unwavering desire for carnitas and huevos rancheros.

I have decided that I will be taking Name of the Rose and The Man Without Qualities along for the November trip to Belgrade. I dashed out a few index cards worth of notes for the Musil this past weekend and I have thought about the Eco for some time, apparently along with Joel. The good doctor's panache recognized that it may be the flurry of medieval fascination in the wake of Dan Brown which manifested itself in this odd return. Perhaps it is the idea of the return, eternal or otherwise. Perhaps it acts to thwart any loss of memory. I cannot say.

Our conversation also detailed a proposed banquet of the novels of Hermann Broch in the spring. The Death of Virgil and The Sleepwalkers were highlighted in our shared nerdy indulgence of high German modernism.