Tracking the decline …

… in this case, of Britain: Assault Victim Becomes Criminal While Attacker Walks Free

A poem for this morning …

… David Fisher — The Teacher

In case you wondered …

… The History of the Christmas Card

Check these out …

… Qualia

Be on your guard …

… Think Before You Click:

A poem for Thursday …

… Plaster cast torso of Apollo

In case you wondered…

… David McCullough’s “History Matters” (Hat tip, Dave Lull)

The mystery of faith and friendship …

… HUGH AND GUY (Hat tip, Dave Lull)

A poem for this morning …

… Frederick Tibbetts — Dissonant Interval

A poem for this morning …

… Clouds — BY RÜŞTÜ ONUR

Something to think on …

… Inspiring Quotes

A pleasant reunion …

… Getting started with great expectations

Recalling a masterwork …

… Remembering Willa Cather’s The Professor’s House ( Hat tip, Dave Lull)

A poem for this morning …

… Brooks Haxton —,It Comes to Me: Concision

Thank you, Cynthia

… An Advent villanelle from Philadelphia’s Frank Wilson: “one of those memories that are like photographs

RIP …

… Tom Stoppard, playwright of dazzling wit and playful erudition, dies aged 88 (Hat tip, Daxe Lull))

Solvej Balle

 

I'd read and seen more recently about the Danish author Solvej Balle, and so decided to take on the first installment of her extended series, On the Calculation of Volume. 

The premise of the novel is key: a woman falls out of time and begins to relive the same day -- for what amounts, in total, to a year. She cannot understand how or why this has happens, and those around her cannot help: for they remain in time, and experience that specific day -- the eighteenth of November -- as if it were their first and only time living it. The result, as Balle writes, in a situation in which the primary character, Tara Selter, becomes overwhelmed with an abundance of memories -- but of the same singular day. Everyone else, however, experiences the inverse: they have no memory of a day which they have yet to live: they are, in a sense, free. 

For me, On the Calculation of Volume read as an exercise in existentialism. At its core -- in my reading, at least -- this was very much a novel about the need for action: that is, without action, with the decision to act, there can be no life, no meaning. If Tara Selter is stuck in the eighteenth of November that must be because, on some level, she has not willed herself to seek the next day, to act in such a way that warrants that day, that continuation.

Toward the end of the book, Balle insinuates that Selter may be able to "make room" for the next day: that is, she may be able to let the eighteenth of November wash over her, once and for all, and thus conclude that she has acted in such a way that requires more room, more time. Again, for me, this was an effective rendering of the existential dilemma around repetition and nothingness. For Tara Selter to liberate herself from the banality of a single day requires that she take action, that she think her way into something new. That point, at least, is well made. 

Ultimately, Solvej Balle succeeds in casting this complex journey -- from nothingness, to thought, to action -- as an odd celebration: of the small wonders, of the beauty in repetition, and of the fading human capacity for patience and appreciation. 

A poem for this morning …

… Lisa Russ Spaar — The Geese

Happy Thanksgiving …

… God’s Grandeur ( Hat tip, Dave lull)

Worth pondering …

… 100 years on, T.S. Eliot’s The Hollow Men is a poem for our populist moment

Debuts and departures …

… FIRST & LAST VI

Tracking the decline…

… Don’t Be Fooled: Notre Dame’s About-Face Isn’t a Return to Faith

Remembering one of the true greats …

… I've got you under my skin – Nicky Haslam on Cole Porter {Hat tip. Dave Lull)

These days …

I woke up this morning after having a wonderful dream that immediately turned sour. In the dream I was having a great time shopping for clothes at Joseph A.Bank, which had been my favotite clothing store. Immediately upon waking I realized those days were forever past. You don't go shopping for elegant new clothes while using a walker, as I must these days. No, now is the time for remembering and reflecting. At least I can still do that.

A poem for this morning …

… Charles Wright — Roma 1

Good news …

… Notre Dame University re-adds ‘Catholic mission’ to staff values after backlash

Listen in …

… Bloomsbury's Nigel Newton on Gold-Digging, Fast Cars, Friendship, and Finding Harry Potter

RIP …

… Jill Freud death: Love Actually actor who inspired Narnia character dies, aged 98 (Hat tip, Dave Lull)

Anita Loos

Gentlemen Prefer Blondes -- Anita Loos's celebrated novel of the inter-war years -- is one of those books I'd been aware of for a long time, but had never read. Last week, I rectified that. I'll say at the start that, despite the accolades, this is not a novel on par with the work of either Fitzgerald, neither Scott nor Zelda. It's a book, certainly, that explores similar themes and geographies, but it does so in a far different fashion: Gentlemen Prefer Blondes is effectively a comedy -- almost, for me, in the vein of Three Men in a Boat or Diary of a Nobody. There's a predictability to these novels: which doesn't make them any less funny, but they function based on an implicit understanding of what comes next. Gentlemen Prefer Blondes was very much like that: there was almost a gimmicky quality to the whole thing. That said, despite the humor, Anita Loos does uncover a seriousness: about wealth and femininity, about education and accomplishment. The trouble, for me, was that each time one of those themes is probed, they seem almost to be invalidated by a joke or another dalliance. And I understand that is part of the way this novel operates. But I didn't take away much here: Lorelei Lee remains something of an enigma, despite her creed that "everything always turns out of the best." I suppose it does in Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, but there might have been other ways to present the roots of that optimism. 

 

A poem for today …

… The Christmas Bos by Richard Tillinghast (Hat tip, Dave Lull)

Continuing …

… Poetry Stories: Mildred's Garden

I hope parents take note ……

… Notre Dame removes Catholic mission from staff values, touts new 'refreshed' values I also the media. i will no longer regard Notre Dame as a Catholic institution.

Good Lord …

… What Started as a Joke About Trump Is Now Filling Therapy Offices, Experts Warn The extent of my interest in politucs is that I keep up with the news and always make sure to vote.

That he was …

… Davis: My Q&A with author C.M. Kushins (Hat tip, Dave Lull.) Dutch was cool. No doubt about that.

A poem for this morning …

… Claribel Alegría — Summing Up

Stefan Zweig

 

It had been many years since I last encountered a book by Stefan Zweig, but over the past month, I've read and finished perhaps his most acclaimed novel, Beware of Pity. Let me say at the start, this book is a triumph: it's everything I'd associated with Zweig -- and more. Published in 1939, the novel focuses on the relationship between a crippled young woman of aristocratic stock and an Austrian military officer, only slightly her senior. The complexity of that relationship allows Zweig to explore a range of themes, including love, patriotism, and wealth. But there's more than that: Zweig is also attuned to matters of identity, psychology, and control. In some sense, Beware of Pity is very much a reflection of its time: Zweig and Freud maintained a relationship for many years, and the influence of Freud on Zweig's characters and their motivations is clear. Then, too, there's the First World War, which comes crashing like a wave at the end of the novel, and serves, in some sense, to liberate Zweig's primary character, Anton Hofmiller, of his guilt, his lingering pity: in effect, nothing so small as actions in defense or rejection of love could escape the slaughter of the war. But then, Zweig offers a caveat: guilt, he writes, is never truly forgotten so long as the 'conscience' is still aware. Beware of Pity is wonderfully written, perfectly ordered, and evocative, in its characters, scenes, and scenery, of the fading days of the Austro-Hungarian empire. This is a paean to a lost time, and also, in many ways, to a lost love. 

A poem for this morning …

… Lewis Warsh — Drops

A poem for this morning …

… Peter Schjeldahl — Gauge

A poem for this morning …

… Laurance Wieder —=These Anemones, Their Song Is Made Up As They Float Along

Just so you knowv…

… SPECIAL SECRET

Further asventures of James Reese …

… Jack Carr’s thriller Cry Havoc

Great director, great film '…

… 18 Years Later, Ridley Scott's $270M Gangster Masterpiece Is Still Required Viewing (Hat tip, Jon Caroulis)

RIP …

… Protests Work: How The Satanic Temple Fell Apartee I once spent part of an evening chatting with a professed satanist. i found it very difficult to from laughing. sometimes I failed.

Together at last

… Saint Augustine, pears, and “mimetic cascades”

Sense and reference …

… Could Qualia Terms and Neuroscience Terms have the Same Reference?

A poem for today …

… Luis Alberto de Cuenca — William of Aquitaine Returns

Dim bulbs …

… https://www.theamericanconservative.com/the-critics-who-deny-carpe-diem/ {Hat tip, Dave Lull) i enjoyed Dead Poets Society spmething is wrong with my iPad. i can't do italic or boldface.

Catching up …

… Redux

Sounds well worth seeing …

… The Choral (12A). Film Review. By Harry Mount - The Oldie (Hat tip, Dave Lull)

Just so you know …

Blogging will be sketchy if at all today. i an getting ready to leave rehab and much has to be done.

A poem for this morning …

… Arakawa and Madeline Gins— Untitled

Blogging note …

I continue to languish in rehab. i may blog more later today. Right now I am in a mood to ponder, not write. i stare out the window at the trees, wonderfully graced with dazzling sunlight. May everyone have a blessed day.

Something to think on …

… inspring Quotes

Hmm …

… ‘href="https://archive.is/ykTJY">Nothing is real but sex and death’ — the private world of John Updike (Hat tip, Dave Lull) can't say I agree. sex is feat (or at least can be) and death is, well, inevitable. But life has a good deal more to offer than just those.

Rehab report …

I remain in bed at Saunders House, a very nice rehab facility. My right leg feels much better. So discharge may be near. As someone who has been remarkably healthy throughout my life, being an invalid is a peculiar experience. And an enlightening one. So many people are so kind. This afternoon I shall be ensconced in front of the stationay bike, which I enjoy. Soon there will be a meeting to decide if I am ready for discharge. Pray that I am. I long to be at home.

A poem for this morning …

… Silvia Guerra — Presumption of Heaven

A poem for this morning …

… Brad Gooch — H.

Hmm …

… As we grow out of intellectual adolescence, religion’s popularity soars (Hat tip, Dave Lull)

In case you wondered …

… Bob Dylan’s Superpower is That He Doesn’t Get Embarrassed (Hat tip, Dave Lull)

Something to think on…

… Inspiring quotes

Listen and read …

… Mind To Me A Kingdom Is - Edward de Vere/William Byrd | Dedicated to Alexander Waugh ( hat tip, Dave Lull)

And the winner is

… Winner of the Petrona Award 2025 announced ( Hat tip, Dave Lull)

A poem for this morning …

… Frank O’Hara — Lisztiana, Much Later

Resolution …

i have decided to blog on a more regular basis — observations, opinions, and the like. I have been in the hospital since the operation on Monday to remove bone fragments from my hip, the result of a fall. So I have plenty of time to reflect. I spent most of last year in the hospital and rehab. I had a water retention problem that was finally resolved. And now a fall in my bedroom haslanded me back in the hospital. More later.

A poem for today …

… John Yau — O Pinyin Sonnet

Natalia Ginzburg

 

I was recently recommended the work of the Italian writer Natalia Ginzburg. I didn't know much, if anything, about her, but I was intrigued, and so this week read and finished her Little Virtues. Separated in two parts, this collection of essays and reflections focuses, first, on place, especially on Ginzburg's sense for England, Italy, and Europe in the post-war period. The second part shifts its emphasis to what Ginzburg calls 'human relationships.' This section is primarily interested in experiences of youth, family identity, and friendship. Between the two, I far preferred the first, which contains a number prescient observations regarding English society, in particular. That section also achieves something unusual in terms of its narrative structure: here, Ginzburg constructs a narrative in the first-person, but the effect is something closer to what Rachel Cusk has more recently attempted: a sort of auto-fiction with the author seemingly at the center, but also hovering above, an observer to an intimate unfolding of events. The second portion of Little Virtues read a bit too didactically for me, with a number of suggestions regarding parenting, for instance, which seemed too prescriptive (and, in some ways, too political). That said, though, the whole of Little Virtues was a refreshing read, and a potent reminder of life's wonders. The final sentence, often quoted, says it all: a love of life does, indeed, beget a love of life.

Recommended …

sort of — “[At Swim-Two-Birds is] just the book to give to your sister, if she is a dirty, boozey girl.” – Dylan Thomas on Flann O’Brien’s masterpiece (Hat tip, Dave Lull)

Something to think on …

… inspiring Quotes

Marilynne Robinson

 

It's been many years since I read Gilead, Marilynne Robinson's celebrated novel of history, faith, and mortality. I never loved that novel -- at least not in the way the critics suggested I might. But now, after all those years, I've returned to Robinson: this time via her first novel, Housekeeping. 

Here, again, the critics would have you believe you've encountered a masterpiece. And in some sense, I suppose, you have: the first half of Housekeeping, which establishes a sense of time and place, is highly effective. There's a clear evocation of the American west -- along with its history, people, and struggle. Indeed, struggle is at the heart of this novel: both against the land, but also against the strictures of society.

The tragedy which unfolds at the end of the novel is meant -- in my reading -- to bring the book full circle, to establish a link between it and a separate human struggle which starts the book. These episodes are different in their severity and context, but they share something which Robinson reinforces throughout the novel: water. This is a theme, a trope, a framing which guides Housekeeping. 

If I was disappointed by the second half of Housekeeping it's because Robinson introduces -- as she does in Gilead, too -- a secondary narrative drawing heavily from religious ideas and texts. I understand why she does this -- in Gilead, especially -- but here, in Housekeeping, it did not seem necessary: and the result was a powerful story which seems to have lost at least some of its momentum. (Faith is not a central theme in Housekeeping, and the inclusion of Robinson's secondary narrative seemed extraneous.) 

I don't want to be overly negative, though: by any measure, Housekeeping is a succesful, powerful novel. For a glimpse of the American temperament, the American frontier, and the development of the American economy -- for these concepts alone, the novel is worth the time. It is a book very much of individual characters in juxtaposition to forces larger than themselves.

Just so you know …

i won't be blogging todafor a while. i'm in the hospital awaiting an operartion.

Another passing …

… Ashleigh Brilliant (1933–2025) (Hat tip, Dave Lull)

In memoriam …

… John Coyne, RIP ( Hat tip, Dave Lull)

Congratulations …

… Hungarian writer László Krasznahorkai wins the Nobel Prize in literature

Thomas Bernhard

 

I recently finished The Loser, Thomas Bernhard's celebrated novel of artistry, excellence, and failure. At its core, this is a book about competition and comparison: about how, despite ourselves, we cannot avoid the tendency to differentiate, to distinguish. Bernard's focus is on elite piano players and their evolution over time and space. To label one of the three "a loser" is a bit of a stretch as that player is himself an exceptional talent. But compared with the virtuoso, with the genius, he can be nothing, at that level, but a failure. The plot of The Loser is not, though, what has attracted attention: instead, is is Bernhard's style, which fluctuates between the present and a sort of perpetual past. Bernhard captures that sense of the past in a number of ways: via memory, recollection, and imagination; but mostly, through an unusual interplay of syntax, repetition, and conjugating verbs in all forms of the past tense. A character had done, or was doing, or did do, or will have had to have done: it's almost to the point of Gertrude Stein, but that is not, in my reading, Bernhard's objective. Instead, he seems to be making a point about our ability as humans to construct entire stories from memory, from supposition. And even if I found the style here a bit, well, a bit gimmicky at times, I take the point that events are, by their very nature, transformed into the past, and that history, no matter how recent, can only be made real through the articulation of memories. In this way, at least, Bernhard packs a considerable punch: his story, told largely in the past tense, becomes immediately present, casting a double sense of sorrow: for what was, and for what now is. 

A poem for this morning …

… Jacques Dupin — Lichens

Remembering Guy Davenport …

… The Word Dear Alone Hangs on the Upper Verge' (Hat tip, Dave Lull)

Happy and sad …

… Thoughts on moving houses (Hat tip, Dave Lull)

Remembering …

… Phillies team that everyone doubted found its way to first World Series win

A poem for this morning …

… Priscilla Becker —/My Stint Among the Beloved

Sad —.and infuriating …

… The Murder of a South Philly Barber

For sale …

… A Delancey Street townhouse filled with 100,000 books is a bibliophile’s dream — and an epic estate sale (Hat tip, Dave Lull)

A poem for this morning …

… Octavio Paz — Target Practice

Something to think on …

… Inspiring Quotes

A poem for this morning …

… Octavio Paz — Letter of Testimony Cantata

Anniversary …

… Almost famous turns 25 ( Hat tip, Dave Lull)

Something to think on …

… Today's quote

A poem for this morning …

… Octavio Paz — In The Middle Of This Phrase

Better late than never …

… Raymond Chandler's Unseen Story Has Been Published At Last (Hat tip, Dave Lull)

RIP …

… Tony Harrison 1937-2025 (Hat tip, Dave Lull)

A poem for this morning …

… Brian Blanchfield — Smalltown Lift

Farewell …

… Goodbye to all that (Hat tip, Dave Lull)

Heading home …

… How ‘Task’ creator Brad Ingelsby became the bard of Delco

Something to think on …

… Quotes To Inspire You

RIP

… John Searle (1932-2025) (Hat tip, Dave Lull)

Something by yours truly …

… An Advent Villanelle

Charlotte Bronte

 

Well, it took me a few weeks, but I've now finished Jane Eyre, Charlotte Bronte's mid-century classic. No doubt, this is a big book: not only in terms of its length, but in terms of its emotional depth. That said, it's not a novel that stretches with time -- nor, for that matter, with place: this is a book that captures a period of about twenty years. And of those, at least half are not described in detail. And more: the novel takes as it location a specific set of shires in northern England. 

None of which is to critique Jane Eyre -- because, by almost all measures, the novel is a triumph. But I was surprised, upon reflection, how limited the novel is in terms of its historical and geographical range. That said, what the book lacks in terms of time and space, it more than makes up by way of character and journey. Jane Eyre comes of age at brutal time in English history: one of  disease, emotional repression, and industrial awakening. There are moments early in the novel when Jane confronts unspeakable sorrow and violence. That violence, mercifully, retreats: but it's never forgotten; it lurks just below the surface of Jane's story. 

Jane Eyre is a novel that focuses almost entirely on a single character: Jane Eyre. It's a memoir of sorts, with a handful of other figures introduced in order to advance Jane's evolution. The most significant among them are men: two men, actually -- Jane's suitors. True, there are other women in this novel -- and for that matter, there are other men, too. And those tertiary characters do exert their influence: but this seems a book, in the end, guided by the influence of men, by their power to dictate: whether through financial means or religious conviction. Again, upon reflection, this is a novel that seems, at least in part, to be focused on women, and yet cast as a sequence of events largely constructed by men. 

I don't want to overstate the case: I know that Jane exercises her own agency and that she's by a profound courage. But -- in my reading, at least -- it is men who dictate the terms, and who drive the novel toward its various crescendos. 

Jane Eyre is a lyrical, thorough, difficult novel: one about a young woman in her time, and about the limitations imposed on women by that era. Charlotte Bronte is a tremendous writer, and there is never any doubt about how her characters feel, how they experience triumph and regret. One of my favorite lines from Jane Eyre comes toward the end as Jane reflects on her suitors and their love; it's at this moment that she recognizes that there is a difference between an error of judgement and a violation of principle. 

In many ways, that subtle distinction -- that reflection of personal awakening -- defines the entire novel. 

Appreciation …

… Never use your own car: Elmore Leonard’s Superpower (Hat tip, Dave Lull)

A poetic suite … …

… Five Poems at #Ranger Magazine

A poem for this morning …

… Rowan Ricardo Phillips — Little Songs

Maybe better than his novels …

… The Journals of John Cheever