Why I Do This

Self-indulgent as it may appear, this weblog and it thematic are not for attention but rather as a levee against forgetfulness. last weekend within 24 hours I rec'd a phone message from my friend Ed who charmed upon the effects of The Road by Cormac; this was followed by strongly persuading my wife to read Everything thar rises must converge by Lady Flannery. It is awkward to approach the depth of this without sounding maudlin. The torrent of interests that occupy our world are often only pierced by a story. In a simuilar degree, I picked up a copy of the Shadow of the Wind at the goodwill for under seventy cents. I told Ed last night that it had quickly burriowed its way under my skin, becoming an infection of delight, depsite my cringing under a few of its conventions.

Alongside the Spanish novel I will be taking Name of the Rose by Eco and Man Without Qualities by Musil for the Balkan holiday with plans to pick up newly translated titles in English should they appear in Beograd.