The cliche So Many Books, So Little Time, never felt truer. I seem to have reached an all-time-high in terms of books checked out from the library, and I'm really never going to be able to read them all--at least, not within the 8 week maximum timeframe--so after writing this, I'm going to return a great many, read or not. But I do want to record some thoughts about some of them and others first. Ideally, I would like to use this space to record thoughts about the read, the unread, and the eager to read, and make it a more practical outlet for the love of reading than simply checking out, piling up, and returning, or buying and shelving.

First, a happy discovery late last year was Alexandra Johnson, who writes about writers, writing, and diaries. I loved her book The Hidden I: Writers and Their Diaries, which was published several years ago but which I found serendipitously at Borders and devoured. It has a chapter apiece on many of the great women diarists--Nin, Sarton, Woolf, Alice James, Katherine Mansfield, Sonya Tolstoy, and a fascinating chaper on a Scottish young girl diarist I had never heard of. She died very young but was made into a legend in Scotland and England, in part because of an encounter she may or may not have had with Sir Walter Scott. Johnson corrects the inaccuracies of the legend and rectifies the way she had been fetishized by several male writers. I can't remember the girl's name and can't look it up because I have lent the book to a friend. I want to press the book on all my close friends. It made an impression on me in a number of ways. For one, it got me writing in my journal again. Also, it reminded me of the great joy I took earlier in life--mostly in college and just after--in reading the great women's diaries, and made me long to return to them, especially Woolf's. I immediately sought out Johnson's other book, Leaving a Trace, which is more of a journal-writing manual, but I was very disappointed. Mostly it repeated a lot of the material in the other book. She is such a talented writer and there is so much to write on the subject--a shame she simply repeated herself. By the way, I thought that the opening of the Scottish girl chapter and of the next chapter, I believe it was Tolstoy, were great models of biographical writing. She was able to set the scene of life in countries foreign to me over a century ago in an extraordinarily vivid way but without pretending to have been there or imputing thoughts on people that she didn't have sources for. If only I could write as good biography. I am still plugging away on my own humble project. Which reminds me of something I just read in another of the books I'm going to return: How Proust Can Change Your Life by Alain de Boton. This was my second encounter with this book. I enjoy reading it and it makes me chuckle, but I must say it doesn't seem to me to carry any unforgettable insights. Mostly it has a lot of fun fragments of Proust's biography, which I am gettng a great deal of in my car by listening to Ronald Hayman's Proust, A Biography. In fact, I'm about to exceed the 8-week checkout period on that one. It has 16 cassettes! Because I listen while driving, I definitely am not absorbing every word, but I have enjoyed it a great deal and learned a lot about Proust's life and gotten a lot of food for thought. Last November was the second winter in my life that I was struck by a yearning to read Proust. The first time I read a good portion of Book I of A La Recherche (in English); this time I have confined myself to reading about Proust and his masterpiece. Not deliberately--I think of it as preparation, but at the same time it does seem that I might not necessarily get to the book itself anytime soon. Why? Well, when I think of reading it, I also think about the fact that there is a new English translation of the Tale of Genji, my poor abandoned dissertation topic, and I may have this notion that if I'm going to read a huge psychological novel, that should be it. Occasionally I really go off into the deep end of fantasy thinking that I could go back to grad school and do some comparative work on the two masterpieces. Wouldn't that be cool? Despite my love of reading a zillion different books and keeping up with the literary fiction of my own day, I am also attracted to the idea of spending a year or more doing a deep read of a big book. Anyway, Boton does relate a sad story about Woolf's feeling suicidal after reading Proust. She felt that he had done such an outstanding job of something she wished she could do, that there was no point in attempting it herself. When she did write, she felt her own efforts pale terribly in comparison. Boton contends that she eventually made peace with this creative dilemma. It is a striking one and one I can relate to, though on a level that is needless to say many magnitudes remote from the geniuses mentioned. I'm also going to return Proust's Way, which I have now dipped into twice as well. It's worth knowing about because the author is the one who ventured to say you don't have to read all of A La Recherche and suggests which parts can be skipped. It's an interesting and bold concept.

I am not one to enjoy short stories--I prefer series and loooong books--but I did read a short story collection that impressed me a lot over the holidays: Murakami Haruki's After the Quake. At least two of the stories affected me and are likely to stick in my memory, in particular the one that became the title of the collection in the original Japanese Kami no kodomotachi wa mina odoru, "All God's Children Can Dance." A man believes he spots his unknown father in a crowd (his mother told him he was missing part of an ear), so he follows him, ending up alone in nature and having a kind of joyful epiphany about life. Beautiful.

Also today I finished reading Pat Barker's World War I trilogy. I liked the first book, Regeneration, but found the ending so upsetting that I didn't want to continue. Then I skimmed it again before reading the second book The Eye in the Door. I liked that one tremendously, especially its focus on Rivers and his therapy work. I'm afraid I didn't appreciate it the last book The Ghost Road, as much as it deserves. I began to get oppressed by all the other books I want to read and also depressed, because the trilogy is so strongly antiwar, as am I, and here we are about to go to war for no good reason. There's a modicum of antiwar sentiment now, but people are already saying that once the war starts most everyone will turn rah-rah and supportive. It's terribly upsetting and depressing. Also, I didn't like the passages about Rivers' anthopological work with the headhunters. I'm sure she included it for a good reason, but for sheer reader's enjoyment I could have read on and on about Prior, Rivers, and Sassoon.

I'm going to return Anita Shreve's The Weight of Water without reading it this time around. I thought The Pilot's Wife was gimmicky, but many friends have urged me to try her other stuff, which I'm willing to do. I picked Weight because I read a movie review in the Times and thought I would read the book first, but I've seen no mention of the movie for several months. Also a friend told me it's a devastating read for anyone who has lost a child, so I may be shying away from it for that reason. There are times I don't mind or even want to have feelings about that experience, and times I don't.

Speaking of books into movies, I also read About Schmidt. Terrific and touching, though it ended a bit abruptly--that is, after a day by day kind of plot it sped up at the end. This I read in preparation for seeing the acclaimed film, and I've been shocked to learn from the reviews that the plot of the movie is different from the book in what to me are several significant ways (the son-in-law working at the father's law firm, the NYC-Hamptons setting, the father being a lawyer!). I hope I can see the movie with an open mind because Jack Nicholson is supposed to be great as Schmidt. Ther's supposed to be an article in tomorrow's Times about how Begley feels about the process of his book being made into a movie, which should be interesting. I sure envy Susan Orlean for Adaptation!

Thanks to friends at work have discovered two great new (to me) mystery writers. One is Charles Todd, who writes about a detective haunted by his wartime experiences. The other is John Harvey, whose hero is the very amusing and endearing Charlie Resnick. Harvey seems like a really neat person based on his web site--a poet, briefly had his own publishing company, loves jazz...I've read the first book in each series and rushed out to get the next, though I got sidetracked and will have to save each for another time.

My next read will probably either be a book by Mary Wesley, about whom I became curious when reading her obituary recently, or Sue Miller's The World Below, which a friend recommends highly. Wesley died at 91, having published her first book at, I think, 71. Her fiction sounds a bit like Barbara Pym's--funny, insightful, and sad at once. The two I borrowed from the library both have suicide as a theme--another issue close to my heart.

After four days of taking it pretty easy, today I'm ready to live my ideal life--working on the book I'm writing in the morning, and leaving the afternoon open, possibly for more writing, possibly for reading, or napping and watching baseball playoffs. Started the day off with a latte to celebrate the firing of Bobby Valentine. Hopefully Steve Phillips will be next and then a new era can begin for the Mets.
Next was meditation, then blueberry pancakes. Ah, the relaxed life...
I did finish Family Matters--it was so good! And I was very pleased that Updike gave it such a positive treatment. I'd like to find more critiques of it, though, to bounce off my own impressions. For example, was Coomy a sympathetic character? I had trouble feeling anything positive about her. I think she was the only one in the book for whom this was true. Also, the ending with an epilogue that took place 5 years later seemed like a cop-out. I know Mistry could have written those 5 years and kept the reader's interest. It was almost as though he had suddenly heard from his publisher that he had to submit his ms for a deadline.
I am very intrigued by the mentions I read in so many places about the book The Pilgrim Hawk by Glenway Westcott. It was written about in the New Yorker by Susan Sontag, mentioned in the book Lost Classics, and now Dirda talks about his love for it in Readings. Guess I'll have to seek out a copy.

I'm taking a week off to focus on reading, writing, and resting. A colleague got me interested in the Enneagram, and I am completely fascinated by it. I just spent $10 taking the complete test online to make sure I am what I thought I am--a type 1. I'm writing this entry in part because I want to experiment with putting the type 1 graphic on.
Of course, knowing your type is one thing--the key is how you use that knowledge for personal growth. That's what I have to work on next. It seems promising because the descriptions are so on target. Yet, the tendencies are so deep.
I'm about to finish Rohinton Mistry's third novel: Family Matters. I like it a great deal and am not what I'd call disappointed, but I don't think it's quite as wonderful as at least one of his other two. Do I remember them well enough to even name which one, though? I think it's Such A Long Journey, if that's the one about the four very different people who wind up together. As soon as I read Family Matters, I have to go to this week's New Yorker and see what Updike said about it. how uncanny for there to be a lengthy critique of the very book I'm reading! By the way, this issue of the New Yorker is phenomenal--every article is compelling. In particular, I love Jonathan Franzen's discourse on Contract fiction versus whatever he calls the other one--the one where the author is just writing to please himself and demonstrate that he's great, the more difficult, abstruse, and impossible to understand the better (use of "he" here intentional). Naturally, I'm for Contract.
Been thinking about getting back to writing here to fulfill my original intention of keeping track of everything I read and want to read. I'm feeling particularly overwhelmed by the latter category (well, I always am, to one degree or another). Saw Michael Dirda speak at Oberlin on Saturday night. He was so wonderful, as are all of his writings about books. I checked his only book, Readings (2000, Indiana University Press), out of the library, and found that a great many of his columns are available online through Proquest National Newspapers. More than 100! I want to read them all!!! Today I read a few of them. One was a review of Thinks, by David Lodge, and I was pleased to see that Dirda agreed with me that it was really good. Also, he did a movie review of The Mystic Masseur, which reminded me that I'm eager to read that Naipaul book. Also, Balzac and the Little Chinese Seamstress by Dai Sijie has always intrigued me, and he was positive about it, plus there is apparently a part where the heroes uncover a trove of Western lit and comment on it, so that sounds like a lot of fun. I also checked out A Test of Wills, the first mystery in a series by Charles Todd, because a friend recommended it to me, and it sounds really great. Might help me with those type 1 issues, since the detective has a harsh critical voice in his head at all times. Back to types--I learned online today that the Myers of Myers-Briggs, Isabel Myers, actually wrote a mystery before she got into her type work. That'd be interesting.
Also on my pile is Hamlet's Dresser by Bob Smith. I really want to read that one, too. And here I am on vacation. Problem: every time I start to read, especially in the afternoon, I get sleepy and need to nap. When I get up, I get sucked into household responsibilities. But I will keep trying. Reading is too important to neglect!

I am mystified. I can't figure out how to see my blog on the web anymore. I'm hoping that writing a new entry will either jog my memory or make it reappear mysteriously.
I just did a weekend retreat based on the teachings of Eknath Easwaran's book Meditation. It was awesome! I'm on a business trip now and my hotel room is full of Easwaran's books. He is so funny while he is imparting wisdom about how to live that he makes it fun to be working on yourself. By funny I mean that he really understands the distractions that meditators face and the trying situations we confront when we are attempting to live a more compassionate life. In addition to his book Conquest of Mind, I'm reading a biography he wrote of the "Frontier Gandhi," Badshah Khan, who was what Easwaran calls "a nonviolent soldier of Islam." This 1984 book couldn't be more relevant to today! I'm learning a lot of Afghanistan and Indian history from it.
I'm also reading Adam Sisman's Boswell's Presumptuous Task: The Making of a Life of Dr. Johnson. I was really happy to see that it won the National Book Critic's Circle Award for biography this week.

I'm back--many months and many miles of business trips later. I'm reading Naipaul's A House for Mr. Biswas and think it's wonderful, but I keep getting distracted by other reading, so I'm not getting through it very fast. So many books, so little time...Especially since I'm preparing to write a book of my own and have a lot of reading to do to research my topic. I did read Jonathan Frantzen's The Corrections and really liked it a lot. It will be interesting to hear what my book club has to say about it in January. I'm quite proud of the fact that I read the entire work on my Palm Pilot--all 3,000 screens! It was a very handy format for reading on planes and while traveling around Tokyo, and now I'm an e-book convert. I'm skipping book club this month--no time, and they are reading The Cape Ann. Next month is Talking from 9 to 5, which I do intend to read.
What inspired me to write tonight, of all nights since March 17? Well, I was investigating book collection software, and one of them has a journal function that lets you export your reading journal entries in html form. Pretty cool. I'll give the program a trial run over the Thanksgiving weekend.

Pathetic. It's been an eternity since I last posted. What have I read? Ah, yes. We Were the Mulvaneys by Joyce Carol Oates. What an amazing book--one of my all-time favorites. Instead of posting here, I dropped a line to Oprah in an attempt to get on the show discussing it, but alas...I thought I might bring a probably underappreciated aspect of the book to the fore--the role of pets and the love of animals, particularly the importance of these in the healing of psychological wounds. It was gratifying to learn from an essay on the Oprah site that Oates has particular fondness for this book among all those in her vast oeuvre, and that one of the most moving pet situations in the novel was based on a real event in her life. I'm eager to read some other novels of hers that have been highly praised, especially Because It Is Bitter and Because It Is My Heart and You Must Remember This.
Next, for our book group, I read a hugely enjoyable book that made me laugh until I cried in several places: A Walk in the Woods by Bill Bryson. I almost missed reading this, because, as sometimes happens, it wasn't the kind of book I was in the mood for when time for the group rolled around. But very fortunately, I was out with some group members right before the scheduled discussion, and after hearing them rave about it, I had to read it. Good humor writing is a rare and wonderful thing. I went on to check out another Bryson from the library, but it slipped out of the queue when in the same trip I found Helen DeWitt's The Last Samurai. I still have that one by my bed, and I understand why many reviewers have said it's a delightful and ambitious intellectual romp, but I abandoned it after a goodly number of pages. I'm a strong candidate to love it--I know Japanese, which plays a bit of a role in it, and I do love the premise, of having the Seven Samurai be a brilliant fatherless son's role models, but it just wasn't what I needed to be reading right then or something. I'm not sure I'll get back to it this time around. Maybe after a friend reads it and praises it and I'm in a different mood I'll give it another try.
I went from the samurai to a book that two trusted recommenders spoke very highly of: The Sparrow, by Mary Doria Russell. It didn't grab me immediately by any means, but finally one day the story clicked with me and I got hooked. I'll probably finish it in a day or two. What surprises me about it, though, especially considering how highly recommended it came, is that it's pretty depressing. Or at least very very sad. It's pretty clear from the beginning that something awful has happened. I keep hoping against hope that that won't prove to be true--there has to be something uplifting here--but I'm not getting it so far. I do love the characters and care about them, and I think the writing is very good, imaginative and intelligent.
I did finally finish listening to the Dinesen bio. It was riveting to the end, and my fascination with her is endless. I thought a good follow-up listen would be Dinesen's own Out of Africa, and it's good, but I have to say that Beryl Markham's West with the Night strikes me as far better. Maybe it's just that having seen the movie of OOA twice and read the bio, there's not enough new in it to take my breath away. I may read the other Dinesen bio soon--I'll post the title and author later because they escape me right now.

The entire rest of January was jangly and eventful. not at all conducive to reading. Today, though, I feel like I'm finally beginning to get my bearings.

Well, it wasn't conducive to reading whole books, but I did come upon some real gems. One was "The Space Heater," a poem by Sharon Olds in the 1/15/01 New Yorker. It brings me almost to tears every time I read it or think of it. The 1/29/01 New Yorker has a great story by Stephen King called "All that You Love Will Be Carried Away." Profound and funny, too.

I'm still listening to the Isak Dinesen bio on tape--it's 15 cassettes! Today at the wonderful Dark Star used bookstore in Yellow Springs, OH, home of Antioch College, I found three of Dinesen's books: Winter's Tales , Seven Gothic Tales , and one I hadn't heard of (actually, two books in one), Anecdotes of Destiny and Ehrengard. I made a number of other great finds, too: a biography of T. H. White by Sylvia Townsend Warner (fortunately, it was still there--I had first seen it there in November but hadn't bought it then, to my great regret since); Steinbeck's To a God Unknown, which I remember being deeply moved by in high school, but I can't recall why; and Joyce Carol Oates's We Were the Mulvaneys, which has now reached bestsellerdom as an Oprah selection. I want to remember to tape that episode of Oprah--the thought of JCO and Oprah discussing books intrigues me.

Last week some friends with whom I meet monthly for mutual encouragement in practicing Stephen Covey's Seven Habits recommended I read Hyrum Smith's 10 Natural Laws of Successful Time and Life Management. I've read quite a bit of it, and in the course of doing so came upon a very profound statement: "Books don't ring." It was in the context of a discussion about the need to distinguish between urgent matters and vital matters. A ringing telephone signals urgency, but, needless to say, far from everything communicated by telephone is vital. Books don't ring, but reading them is a vital matter to many of us. The challenge is to make more time for what is vital and not get carried away by matters that may be urgent but are unimportant.

My current reading is Barbara Kingsolver's Prodigal Summer, which is wonderful, but which I haven't been able to enjoy as much as I otherwise might have because of the jangliness mentioned earlier. I want that to change beginning tonight, and I'm going to start by curling up with it in front of a fire.

Found a great blog yesterday thanks to Library Journal. It's librarian.net, by Jessamyn West. No, not that Jessamyn West, who's dead. This one was born in 1968. She's an irreverent, witty, fascinating librarian and lover of books. (Speaking of name confusion, that's Sylvia Townsend Warner mentioned above, and she is not to be confused with Sylvia Ashton Warner, who wrote Teacher and Spinster.)

Alas, a long and hectic business trip came between me and reading for about a week. But I did read one entire novel that's worth mentioning: Trans-sister Radio, by Chris Bohjalian. It has a great plot--very hard to put down--and is thought-provoking, too. A woman gets involved with a man just before he is scheduled for sex-change surgery. This book will really get you thinking about gender and sexual preference. I recommend it highly as long as you aren't squeamish about those issues.

I found a great Web site about Isak Dinesen/Karen Blixen: karenblixen.com. It has a Beryl Markham link with lots of information about her as well. The site appears to be hosted by the (small) publisher of a biography of Dinesen--not the biography I'm reading, which is the Judith Thurman. Karenblixen.com has a page of "corrections," which purports to rectify what its writer says are frequently repeated pieces of misinformation about Dinesen. I haven't checked yet, but it's obvious that some of them are directed at Thurman's work. That doesn't bother me--it makes the whole thing more interesting, in fact. And even though I've only read a little bit of Thurman, the writing is outstanding, and you immediately get the feeling that you're in the hands of a very skillful biographer.

Another interesting debate goes on about whether Markham really wrote West with the Night. There are links to pieces about that from the site above, too. The book is a great piece of writing--whoever did it. I just wish they'd have given us more!

One way I gain a little more reading time during the workweek is to listen to books on tape (unabridged only, of course!) in my car. I'm just finishing a terrific one: Beryl Markham's West with the Night. It's one of those books that you feel like recommending to everyone you know. The language is absolutely gorgeous--poetic, in fact-- and in addition the book is full of great stories that make you laugh or cry, or keep you on the edge of your seat in suspense. It was one of my favorite writing gurus, Natalie Goldberg, who inspired me to read this book. In her latest, Thunder and Lightning: Cracking Open the Writer's Craft, Goldberg quotes the entire opening of West with the Night. I'll just give a tiny taste here:

How is it possible to bring order out of memory? I should like to begin at the beginning, patiently, like a weaver at his loom. I should like to say, "This is the place to start; there can be no other."

But there are a hundred places to start, for there are a hundred names--Mwanza, Serengetti, Nungwe, Molo, Nakuru."

Imagine hearing a perfect reader's voice recite this to you as you drive home on a snowy Ohio night. My encounter with West with the Night has led me to re-see Out of Africa and to my next book on tape, Judith Thurman's award-winning bio of Isak Dinesen.

I have a great book by Alfred and Emily Glossbrenner called About the Author: The Passionate Reader's Guide to the Authors You Love, Including Things You Never Knew, Juicy Bits You'll Want to Know, and Hundreds of Ideas for What to Read Next. There is a two-page spread on just about every modern fiction writer you can think of, as well as some classic ones. Anyway, I read something there that, as a Joni Mitchell fanatic, I have to do further research on. In the part about Saul Bellow, the Glossbrenners say that Joni got the idea for the title of "Both Sides Now" from Bellow's Henderson the Rain King. I'm very curious about this. James Atlas's new bio of Bellow is high on my to-read list, but my copy of it is a free set of bound galleys that I picked up at ALA, and there's no index! As far as Joni goes, there's only one Web site worth mentioning: jonimitchell.com. Started by Wally Breese, who died last year (he suffered greatly from a form of cancer--but, wonderfully, Joni had him over to her house for the weekend shortly before he died, a visit he chronicled on the site in words and photos). I'm sure one of the many ardent fans I became acquainted with on the related Joni Mitchell discussion list would have the scoop on this Bellow connection. Alas, I followed that list daily for a brief period, but it's a very high-volume one, and I couldn't keep up.

Ooops!--now I've finally done what I have sometimes feared I would do. Our book club's December selection was Ellen Foster by Kaye Gibbons. I knew I owned some book by Gibbons, but I wasn't sure which one, so without looking, I checked a copy of Ellen Foster out of the library. In the meantime I found my own copy--the same paperback edition I had borrowed from the library. It came due last week, so I returned it. But...I just discovered that I returned my own copy and still have the library's! Alan is going to go explain to the librarian tomorrow, while I return to work.

Ellen Foster is a great book, by the way. I liked this passage especially:
"I am not able to fall asleep without reading. You have that time when your brain has nothing constructive to do so it rambles. I fool my brain out of that by making it read until it shuts off. I just think it is best to do someting right up until you fall asleep."

A friend who loves Gibbons says that Charms for the Easy Life is even better. For myself and the library, I will note here that I have acquired a copy of it and do not need to look for it at the library when the urge to read it strikes.

I first read about weblogs in the Circuits section of the New York Times , and then researched them a little more, including reading the 11/13 New Yorker article about them. I also visited beebo, a site that the New Yorker says has a list of the best weblogs, but, interestingly, beebo doesn't do that anymore. Beebo's author also notes that being mentioned in the New Yorker didn't do much for his site in terms of traffic, which is surprising. I liked beebo, though. One of his, mine, and many people's favorite blogs is Arts and Letters Daily, which I do wish I read daily.

Anyway, for some time now I have wanted to set up a page on the Internet about reading. In part this is so that I will have a log of what I read or contemplate reading. Often one of my New Year's resolutions is to keep a reading diary, with titles, authors, and reactions, or at least a list of the books I've read. I have kept such lists and even a diary at times, but I never keep them up for a prolonged period. That's one reason I thought that doing this as a weblog would be a good idea. They're supposed to be kept up consistently. The other reason I want to do this is for my friends who are also passionate readers. I am separated geographically from many of them, and unfortunately because of busy lives and the way time passes faster and faster, we don't often find time for a phone call. When we do and ask each other about what we've read recently, all too frequently we both draw a blank or can only think of one or two books, missing out on the chance to share the many other great reads of the past several months.
When I read about what weblogs originally were--links to good Web sites with a bit of commentary--I was a little concerned that this one wouldn't fit the mold because it would mostly be about reading of non-Web materials. But (1) it's obvious that a weblog can be whatever one wants it to be, and (2)as I write I find that I am referring to some sites after all. Which isn't too surprising, of course.

So, what have I been reading? This is a particularly good time to write about that, because over the holidays my husband Alan and I finally took a long-dreamed-of reading vacation, in which we took a bunch of books to a cabin in the country, where there was little to do but read.

When we left, I was immersed in Barbara Vine's latest book, Grasshopper. I had trouble putting it down, as is usually the case with me and a work by either Vine or her alter ego Ruth Rendell. I admit that I have a tendency to think that the latest one I've read is her best one, but...Grasshopper really is Vine at her best. The closest to it in quality for me is The Chimney Sweeper's Boy, but I liked Grasshopper better because I became very fond of the narrator/protagonist. It annoys me no end that the publisher put a blurb from Patricia Cornwell on the back of the book.

Biography being my next favorite genre, after literary fiction, I turned next to Victoria Glendinning's Edith Sitwell: A Unicorn Among Lions. I've long heard that Glendinning is a great biographer, and although I've collected a couple of her works (Elizabeth Bowen and Trollope), I hadn't yet read one. (I did love her novel, Electricity.) I was disappointed with the first third of the book--felt it was sloppy in places and didn't give a good feel for Sitwell's inner or outer life. I was really surprised. When we returned from the country I sought out a review of this 1980 book on the New York Times site. No less a biographer and writer than Michael Holroyd gave it a great review. I got that too-familiar reader's insecurity: "What am I missing here?" Embarrassingly enough, I felt the book got much better after that. I think it really did. I'm almost done with it, but slipped in a quick read of Muriel Spark's A Far Cry from Kensington before finishing. What a fun book! I mean laugh-out-loud funny, and also touching. Wow! I liked Memento Mori, but I think Far Cry is far better. And today while following Web links I found some lists of people's favorite books, and one mentioned another Spark title. I didn't write it down, but I hope that keeping this blog will help me improve in that department as well.

Why was I reading about Sitwell? Well, I'm in an intense T. S. Eliot phase--have been since the book group at my office read Martha Cooley's The Archivist early last fall. The latter is a novel about some real Eliot letters that were under seal at Princeton until the year 2000. I went from there to the poetry. "Four Quartets" moved me as few poems have in my life ("One Art" by Elizabeth Bishop, "Otherwise" by Jane Kenyon, and "Ithaka" by C. P. Cavafy are several of the others.) I have memorized the opening and closing lines of the Quartets. Next I read Eliot's great play The Family Reunion. And I've now listened to a tape of him reading "The Wasteland" twice. The other day I found a tape of Ted Hughes reading it at the library. That will be interesting to hear.

It's about time to get the New Year's Eve festivities underway. I have a great Indian vegetable stew on the stove, and Alan is bringing in some firewood.