( More where that came from, pal )
( More where that came from, pal )
Light in August is reputedly one of Faulkner's more accessible novels--and an important one. Less formally experimental than The Sound and Fury, As I Lay Dying, or Absalom, Absalom!, the book nonetheless wrestles with equally weighty themes: the legacies of racial and religious communalism and bigotry in the early twentieth-century American Southeast. ( Jim Crow, John Calvin, and Joe Christmas )
These are the top 106 books most often marked as "unread" by LibraryThing’s users. As in, they sit on the shelf to make you look smart or well-rounded. Bold the ones you've read, underline the ones you've read for school, italicize the ones you started but didn't finish.
( My Read & Unread )
And that's all I've got to say about that.
Some neighbors have complained about the faint glare, but the store's owner is considerate enough to turn the sign off when they close at night, so it's not like they're flagrant about it. And having a weakness for that whole trashy neon aesthetic, I kind of enjoy the ambience.
Inside, the new store has a completely different feel, a labyrinthine quality that reminds me of the monastic library in The Name of the Rose: perhaps a dozen rooms full of books winding around almost the entire first floor of the Abonita building. The space is too small for you to actually lose your way, but it almost feels as though you could.
( And then there are the cats ... )
I'm indebted to Carmen's daughter April, "my favorite niece" (we're only a few years apart, so more like siblings), for supplying me with gift suggestions for all of my relatives back there, since I live so far away and I have trouble keeping track of what people are in to and have.
( Potlatch )
I wish that I could include pictures of the event and the ensuing sea of torn paper, but my camera died on the eve of this trip. So I'll have to wait for my relatives to email them to me, then maybe I'll make a separate post.
If showing up as the featured commentator on the Children of Men DVD and writing ad copy for the Abercrombie and Fitch catalogue didn't adequately dramatize the Lacanian theorist's pop-cultural ambitions, I guess maybe someone around here figured that giving him the Andy Warhol treatment alongside posters for the Shins and the White Stripes would do it ...
marginalia has been my partner in crime through a week-and-a-half-long marathon of some of this fall's darkest (and, in at least a couple of instances, most promising) films.
( No Country for Old Men )
( Michael Clayton )
( American Gangster )
( Before the Devil Knows You're Dead )
I'd been OK with the previous three films, but the last one's uncompromising bleakness left me running for comfort cinema:
So I sought refuge in re-watching Trevor Knight's version of Twelfth Night. As I'd hoped, Ben Kingsley's Feste singing "The rain it raineth every day" and Helena Bonham Carter's Olivia mooning over Imogen Stubbs' Viola restored my spirits.
(Then again, maybe it's just that Chandler's hero just seems preposterously anachronistic re-situated in 1973 ...)
And Middlesex has so much to offer: one of those sprawling, multigenerational family sagas I've always been drawn to; a powerful sense of history; a thoughtful treatment of gender politics--all of it woven together via a network of sexually-charged allusions to Greek mythology (Tiresius, the Minotaur, Zeus and Hera, etc).
As with many a beloved story, of course, I started having something like withdrawal pangs as soon as I got to the end.
Don't get me wrong: I'm a firm believer in endings, I respect where this novel ended. I just wish that I always had such rewarding reading to hand.
Meeting Love & Rockets creators Jaime (or "Xaime") and Gilbert ("Beto") Hernandez last weekend put a lot of things in perspective, for me. After following their work for so many years, I had a wealth of questions about their creative processes, influences, opinions, intentions. And, of course, I was curious whether the sense I had of them would be borne out in person. I'm pleased to say that it was, and that the experience of talking with them only deepened my appreciation of their art:
I've been reading Love & Rockets since the mid-1980s. I feel as though grew up with Xaime Hernandez' Margarita "Maggie" Chascarillo and Esperanza "Hopey" Glass, and I love the way that these characters have evolved over the years. More than any other fictional characters I can think of, they're like people I know--people I've known since "we" were teenagers.
I've always been a big fan of Beto Hernandez' Palomar stories, too: I certainly won't be the first to liken these to Gabriel Garcia Marquez' Macondo or Fellini's Amarcord--tightly-knit fictional communities whose dozens of characters you come to know with the intimacy of family, or at least with the intimacy of the village gossip.
Which is why it looks like I'm spending a big chunk of this weekend in Georgetown:
On Saturday, I ventured out into the uncharacteristically Arctic night air we're experieicing in Seattle again to see Casino Royale a second time. ( You Know My Name )
Sunday night, ryuusama hosted the premier episode of HBO's Rome, which shall we say paralleled events in Act III, Scene II of Shakespeare's Julius Caesar. ( Not To Praise Him )
Besides treating one of my favorite intellectual hobbyhorses, Wells' book is one of the more quote-able academic treatises I've run across lately:
( peckish condor )
( Athens and Jerusalem )
After reading this and several general histories of the Byzantine Empire, I find that I want to know a lot more about the Empire's so-called "Golden Age" under the Macedonian dynasty. In particular, I'd like to get my hands on a copy of Digenes Akritas, which was apparently a kind of Byzantine equivalent to El Cid and The Song of Roland.