Much In Maroc

There has been ample space for reflection concerning my reading choices during this holiday. I fnished The Moonstone last week and hoped for terrific progress in Middlemarch while at the coast. Indeed not even the raptures of the Atlantic, the weary stones of Portugese power and the ready availibility of espresso and beer could facilitate more than three hundred pages. The first day back here I read the Borges which N had chosen and it proved ideal in the forking paths of the many gardens throughout Marrakech, far removed from the blinding spectacle of the medina.

I finished that and longed for more. I also promptly kicked myself over not bringing the Eco. That said, I began The Charterhouse of Parma and hqve thoroughly enjoyed it since. If I finish it Saturday I will switch to either the Goytisolo or the Calvino, depending upon my sweetie's mandate. I think I will buy a book at Heathrow on the sabbath, perhaps Lanark which has been reprinted again with an introduction by Gray himself.