Tales By Dusk

Turin is a city which entices the writer towards vigour, linearity, style. It encourages logic, and through logic it opens the way towards madness. -- Italo Calvino

Among the many classifications, daunting and imperial, that occupy Calvino's masterpiece If on a Winter's Night a Traveler, there should be space for Those Books Never Actually Finished, And Eventually Ill-Remembered. This amazing tome would have been listed as such until last week. The endless organizing of shelves and books upon such prompted this direction. As does the eternal quest of what to read next. Each chapter in the Calvino unfolds to proffer a twist of kaleidoscope, a further prism of reference and irony to an already frothing brew of narrative. I was glad to approach such.

My wife finished Pnin and Absurdistan last week and I was near feverish in pull of rereading both. I may yet still. We are both reading Carpenter's Gothic at the present. I finished the second chapter in The Third Reich In Power though samizdat is continuing its somnambulist charade. I started reading Ellroy's American Tabloid yesterday. There is something within without a doubt. I must admit to abhorring texts populated by historical personages, such diminishes the accidental in our existence.