Archive for 2018
3 January 2018, around 5.53.
upbuilding and edification
10 January 2018, around 5.57.
Kierkegaard and Heidegger learn to swim.
19 January 2018, around 6.34.
A portion of Thomas Cole’s ‘The Oxbow’ (1836) This was supposed to be about Emily Dickinson and Susan Howe and how, as a reader, one reimagines poets, emblazoning them on banners for battles they could have had no part in, the moment for those contentions being – then – not yet at hand. The points […]
qui lætificat iuventutem meam
26 May 2018, around 18.28.
In Joyce’s Voices Hugh Kenner does many appealing things. The chapter on ‘the Uncle Charles Principle’ – the narrator’s adoption of a character’s verbal tics to provide a savor of the character’s worldview – is a masterful piece of criticism, presented with aphoristic aplomb. It is a style, surefooted and strong and cavalierly sophisticated, to […]
1 June 2018, around 5.24.
4 June 2018, around 12.24.
…if ever we should find ourselves disposed not to admire those writers and artists […] whom all the learned had admired, not to follow our own fancies, but to study them until we know how and what we ought to admire: and if we cannot arrive at this union of admiration with knowledge, rather to […]
too dark to read
6 August 2018, around 17.13.
It is strange, this land of dogs. A cat may occur in secret, but the dog translates one into a different culture, which runs parallel but only partially visible to the commonplace of books and walks and cemeteries. Strangers speak to me now on the street, wanting to greet the dog, needing apologies when the […]
30 September 2018, around 18.47.
For reasons I don’t fully understand, I have not been able to concentrate on reading this year. Perhaps it is because so much of my working time is spent reviewing words on a screen that when I am through, I no longer feel the need to look at more words. This does not seem like […]
19 October 2018, around 18.34.
30 November 2018, around 14.39.
These are stories of desolation. Sometimes they are a voyage towards, and sometimes they are an attempt to escape from. No matter. The traveller ventures to modern ghost towns, ancients ruins, or the wreckage of their own lives, and never really finds any answers – because there are none, not to the questions worth asking. […]