Taking Leave

One of the pulsating memories of Edmund White's biography of Genet is that Saint Jean always had difficulties closing a letter.
Funny that I recall that.
Nabokov once almost bragged about his homosexuality in terms of literary tastes. I thought about that early this a.m. You see, I have been reading Jane Eyre for about a week now. I have also started The Information by Martin Amis.

I love both of these novels. As much as my friend Joel loves the Rabbit character of Updike, Amis is light years ahead, I'm afraid. What do I know? I also said that every time I read Bellow I would rather be reading Faulkner. Well, maybe not every time and, lord knows, not just any Faulkner.

The idea of rereading has occupied me for a bit as of late. There is somewhere in an introduction to Scarlet and the Black an aside which celebrates a scholar for reading Stendhal's masterpiece something like 90 times. I have also thought it sage to read a notable tome several times, though in practice there are few books as an adult which I have read more than twice. Too often I am quick to announce that i have read Gravity's Rainbow, The Flounder, Infinite Jest and White Teeth two times each. What was my point of this tangent?

Oh, yeah, my bisexual literary tastes include the aforementioned by Zadie, Mrs. Dalloway, and, of course, everything by sweet Carson.