My Year

Our day sheens with a brittle sun, frozen to the core and the streets are mute. Pondering the last year, it shouldn't be regarded as a closed vessel, heaped with earth and forgotten. The time offered comfort and challenges, my reading, perhaps, more so.

There was a time when I duly noted each finished book and compiled lists for my own fleeting satisfaction. I don't possess the vanity for such any longer. As I noted on samizdat, finishing The Pope's Rhinoceros and Moby Dick was an achievement, an experience only enriched by reading such with my friends. My Graham Greene month was a success. I believe I also read six novels in tandem with my wife which is always a treat. Carpenter's Gothic shines easily in that context.
2009 was also bracketed by A.S. Byatt. I completed three of her novels last year and am enjoying The Children's Book presently. I find a necessary nerdy assurance in her work. That likely portends more about me than the novels The Scandinavians featured prominently across the board and The Lazarus Project has left a haunting vapor trail, much like Sebald or Bolano from years past.

There were number of hefty books left unfinished: Bleak House, Imperial and The Kindly Ones are only a few.

What do I harbor for 2010? I think the time is right for Proust. I also think I should devote a summer month to Flann O’Brien. Here’s to hubris and all my friends.