Back from a sunny Sunday in NYC which was everything I needed. Camera battery at B&H (so efficient!), wandering across Chelsea, then down through the East Village to SoHo through thrift stores and record stores and bookstores and coffeeshops and Veselka. Picked up, at last, a copy of Nin's Henry & June and Strayed's Wild (I saw the movie, time to read the book).
Finished Book 4 of Ferrante - the Story of the Lost Child - on the bus ride back. And they way that it built, and then came together, at the end, was simply stunning. It was better than I expected. Richer. She works subtly, piling up sentences. Building. Like Stegner, really. Nothing flashy, but at the end they both build something stunning and substantial and deep. I care about the people in her story. Keep running scenes through my head. And I'm glad I pushed through to the end.
Now listening to John Luther Adams and working. Re-starting my creative writing class tonight at CHAW. Smiling. Still finishing Muir's My First Summer in the Sierra. Muir can sometimes over-rhapsodize, but has a sense of humour, and himself, and beauty that is quite touching. And makes me want to head West.
No comments:
Post a Comment