Wednesday, February 16, 2011


My skull is killing me. I am bearing witness to a supreme sinus inflammation. It has made sleep fleeting and left me truncheoned for the last two days. Such debility has cleared away room for the narcotic effects of David Mitchell's The thousand Autumns of Jacob De Zoet. I am now at p. 300.

I decided that the duelling reads format I employed the week before holidays isn't what I desire these days. Thusly, I have sat aside Mr. Dickens, being 250 pages into Our Mutual Friend and have decided to push through the Mitchell.
I bought a copy of the Wood translation of Doktor Faustus today and I think I will be reading that soon. Another Balzac The Harlot high and Low was ordered last week from Better Worlds and that will likely be it for the month. The need to complete an entire book in a single day has also vacated me for now.


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