Malaise

Not even developments in Tripoli can shake me from a minor funk. The origins of this remain clouded. Since my last post I completed Against Nature by J.K. Huysmans and then The Fall by Albert Camus. Both are very French explorations of defining the character of a just life. The mechanics of each are rather distinct and don't afford much overlap.

Another disparate pair has ascended into view since then. I picked up Peter Ackroyd's biography of Thomas More on Friday and then found myself drifting into the orbit of Lonesome Dove yesterday. Yeah, I know. That second one is a bizarre development.