Enough should be a human right, a floor below which no one can fall; also a ceiling above which no one can rise. Enough is as good as a feast—or bett Enough should be a human right, a floor below which no one can fall; also a ceiling above which no one can rise. Enough is as good as a feast—or better.
How Scandanavian, as Bjork once opined (in an unrelated context). This book oozes optimism which by definition isn't bad but reading it only gives us an escape, not even a set of dreams, perhaps a hatful of dreams would suffice, let's ask Willy W. Or Wily Brandt as he knelt. It isn't an urge to be glib but a recognition which fuels this post. I suffer from biosphere grief, a sense of loss and impending collapse. KSR gives us a hopeful yarn. Another reviewer said this is a counterpart to his The Years of Rice and Salt . I really liked that exploration in alternate history. I didn't care near as much for this, a literary effort to forestall defeatism? The opening of the novel is harrowing, and I wasn't familiar with wet bulb conditions, but I could feel such through the prose, which is an endorsement for sure. It is the subsequent happy turns (although many of them are the result of sweeping acts of terror which somehow receive a pass, authorial or otherwise) and the surfeit of questionable science. I understand this is speculative fiction, but some leaps are ridiculous, but then I'm just an aged cynical progressive, still searching for an embraceable metanarrative....more
I am a philosopher of sandwiches, he decided. Things good on the inside.
Probably 4.5 stars as I sensed a lag towards the end, coinciding with the glo I am a philosopher of sandwiches, he decided. Things good on the inside.
Probably 4.5 stars as I sensed a lag towards the end, coinciding with the gloom of Lima. Who hasn’t felt such, been lost to such sullen conclusions?
I love Carson, all her omissions, the muttered half-truth in the sight lines of the Infinite. This work stirs myth, finds the lyrical in abuse, the frantic footfalls of childhood and the subsequent confusion commonly understood as “life”. I liked the universal experience of sitting in a cafe in a strange city and imagining everyone loathing you whereas you are barely a presence. Here’s to citing Heidegger on postcards back to the provinces. Indifference is the chief export of aging if not maturity. The existence of the letters is subject to debate, especially in learned journals. I tend to side with those that regard nostalgia as a toxic byproduct of capacity. Alas we can ponder the impact of volcanic activity as a metaphor for cognitive rehabituation. ...more
So many are children who from the day of their birth are growing up to be their parents. Look at the voting records, inherited like flat feet.
Was nearSo many are children who from the day of their birth are growing up to be their parents. Look at the voting records, inherited like flat feet.
Was nearly late to work as I became lost in the prose, wanting to finish it but hoping it would last a little longer. Ms. Hardwick gave us a fictional distortion, a wayward look into the mirror while browsing a date book, yes, Maine was exceptional that summer but the poor wash lady--now she was a character. So it goes, haunting and yet delightful. There are glosses on Billie Holiday and wet summers in the Netherlands. There are sidelong views of a childhood Lexington and the flickers of menace and molestation.
Lowell is an unnamed imp occupying blind corners, his absence a lyric to Proteus, an advisor to domestic maters being inchoate. This is a lovely experiment, one which beckons even after the last page is turned....more
If, mind you, if we think of Benjamin and a 3D printer do we automatically violate Godwin’s Law?
Having watched the Prime adaptation years ago, I thouIf, mind you, if we think of Benjamin and a 3D printer do we automatically violate Godwin’s Law?
Having watched the Prime adaptation years ago, I thought I knew the source material. I was cursedly mistaken and without even an amulet not to mention an aura for my trouble.
I had hoped for something more lyrical, but this felt all too familiar: images of a poet as a young girl. The prologue was promising, looking upon herI had hoped for something more lyrical, but this felt all too familiar: images of a poet as a young girl. The prologue was promising, looking upon her birth from above and being seized with a sense of all history converging in an instant, that was compelling but soon we embark on we only had this to eat, and my stepfather was a tyrant. Perhaps her time at indigenous art school could have tightened the focus?
I will certainly explore more of her verse. ...more
You don't seem to understand that hope is something you have to earn.
My wife and I do not have children. That fact to certain political elements meansYou don't seem to understand that hope is something you have to earn.
My wife and I do not have children. That fact to certain political elements means that we can't love this country nor are subscribed to its future. I find that conclusion interesting but superfluous. We have great friends in Chicago who happen to have three children. I once posted a photo of them here as an avatar. I am far closer to those three kids than I am any other children, even in those in my own family. During Covid I sent copies of this book to those kids. It is their lives which will bear the brunt of this madness.
Here are eleven speeches, ones that seem almost quaint given the ensuing five years. ...more
Unlike many readers of this wafer thin endeavor, I preferred Schopenhauer to the pseudo edge of France’s infamous boy. Houellebecq gives us philosophiUnlike many readers of this wafer thin endeavor, I preferred Schopenhauer to the pseudo edge of France’s infamous boy. Houellebecq gives us philosophical marginalia on the philosopher’s writings but not necessarily of an evocative caliber, he balances Schopenhauer with Comte and then makes the result timely by devoting a few lines to splatter film and porn. I’m not sure anyone’s time was well suited by this hiccup of a project. ...more
Fall comes to us as a prize to rouse us toward our fate.
My favorite poems for quite a while; Nietzsche would have termed it timely, well before the hoFall comes to us as a prize to rouse us toward our fate.
My favorite poems for quite a while; Nietzsche would have termed it timely, well before the horse hugging anyway. Read this on holiday feeling mortal and very much in mourning. Each page is a brisk pulse of life steering us but staring us down all the same. The soft snow gangs over my heavy house.
I appreciated the dirges for Randall and Schwartz, even Billy Williams receives an obituary nod, though more for being a horn dog prowler than a Modernist. History keeps rapping albeit softly upon the prevailing structure while the protagonist considers his boozing and skirt chasing; he only appears comfortable when abroad in Ireland. There’s a counterpoint in black idiom which is apparently a concern for some. I’ve heard that Ralph Ellison consulted on the sections, but I haven’t verified. It is true though the reactions to such are debatable. ...more
I found this more an encore than an epilogue, much less an epiphany. Slight and weary it might be, this colleFor a sign of meaning in the meaningless,
I found this more an encore than an epilogue, much less an epiphany. Slight and weary it might be, this collection jarred me, a recurring squeak repeats now with every stride. I’m afraid I’m obligated to both listen and follow....more
My discovery of these pale, somewhat aged, volumes has proved a triumph. An otherwise stale book stylI look for uncomplicated hymns but love has none.
My discovery of these pale, somewhat aged, volumes has proved a triumph. An otherwise stale book style offered a mound of Sexton, even if not d already the collected verse. She’s been most welcome this week, reeling from grief and the birthday mania in our household I needed to look past the Oppenheimer and the fantasy novels which again have failed to ensnare. This is where my pulse beats audible. ...more
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