Upon Summit

Darkmans has been completed after ten days. I finished it last night and its contrived convergences couldn't detract from such a delightful scheme of characters and development. While it didn't meet the criteria of the uncanny, it was odd to see Kane, the thoughtful dealer, pushed towards propriety by an encounter with the Dressing Station. I had heard a review of the book years ago on NPR and then saw copy at Day's Espresso on the borrowing shelf. I considered taking the book with me but didn't and I hadn't thought of the book in what may be nine or ten years now.

Speaking of 1999, I started The Sportswriter this a.m. and as it transpired, I first read Richard Ford on Easter of that eventful year at a cafe in Indianapolis. This present text has an assured rhythm about it and it has unfolded with panache.There are no present plans per samizdat, to a certain regret. We shall see.