Sunday, January 24, 2010


Well, my best friend bought a dog.

Staggering from that, I have been further addled by a week of congestion with oscillating intensity and debilitation. The surfeit of such is that I read 1200 pages in six days: a thousand of which qualify as of a literary bent. I finished Robinson Crusoe and Germinal. The former certainly leaves Gilligan's Island as a testament to sloth. It also suffered from religious sophistry of its rather cursed protagonist. The back ended episode with wolves in the Pyrenees was likewise unnecessary. I firmly enjoyed the latter as well, though the attempts at rescue and recovery in the concluding chapters were bit too timely, unfortunately. I look forward to reading more of Defoe and Zola, though I am presently immersed in Trollope with a sidelong interest in Dumas' Count of Monte Cristo.

Here's to some measure of recovery this week.


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