Taxes and Germans

Such are the bitter truths of post-industrial ennui. I finished the Grimmelshausen today. The last third of the book was strange, not dissimilar to the concluding pages of The Tin Drum which arcs completely away from the book's momentum. I must admit to liking Grass more, not for his own tribute to G as well as Gruppe 47 but for his heavies: the Danzig Trilogy and The Flounder.

I complained earlier about not having the strength for Solzhenitsyn's Gulag Archipelago. I am likely drifting into more history-qua-theory (forgive me Randy Aborigine). We shall see.