REFLECTIONS AS IF IN A MIRROR

STUDY

TRINITY - BOSTON

BRIDGE OVER THE CHARLES

BOATHOUSE

BOOKS AND READING

A SELECTION OF AUTHORS I'VE ENJOYED READING AND RE-READING

CAIUS LIBRARY

Patrick Modiano  Annie Ernaux  John Cheever  Anthony Powell Denton Welch Barbara Pym

Édouard Louis

“For him books are not like men, who impose themselves and burden him with their chatter, and of who it is hard to be rid. When you don’t call for them they stay put; you can just pick up this one or that, according to your whim: “Books are my kingdom. And here I seek to reign as absolute lord.” Books offer him their opinion and he responds with his own. They express their thoughts and arouse in him further thoughts. They do not disturb him when he is silent; they only speak when he questions them. Here is his realm. They await his delectation.”

S. Zweig - Montaigne

SOME BOOKS TO READ - BOOKS I'M READING

Édouard Louis – The End of Eddy.

Annie Ernaux – Journal du dehors

Annie Ernaux – Les Anneés

EMPTY - STERILE - IRONIC

                                                                       STERILITY 

WHAT IS A FART WITHOUT  THE SMELL

WHAT IS A TRUMP WITHOUT THE LIES


IRONY

STEPHEN MILLER 

A JEW YET A FACIST

BUSINESS LUNCH

                                 Les hommes d'affaires

PREFERENCES & RECOMMENDATIONS

NUMBERS I LIKE:

                          3, 5, 7, 12, 15, 17, 21. 33 45, 77, 66

BOOKS I RECOMMEND:

Pamala Paul - MY LIFE WITH BOB. Her obsession with reading - her reading - and a bit about her life. She writes well. An interesting book.


Annie Ernaux -  LES ANĖES - Compelling as are all her writings. 

Ėdouard Louis - THE END OF EDDY - Compelling and seriously beguiling if also dark. "...remarkable ethnography." A story about difference and adolescence.

Hubert Haddad - LE BLEU DU TEMPS - A novel set in London, a novel of putting aside the illusions of youth ---. But of course a "jeune fille intrudes. 

WRITING - NARRATIVE FRAGMENT

Narrative - Fragment

It was an unusually cold March morning in NYC. She walked briskly bent against the wind which seemed to cut through every piece of clothing she wore. She had a mission - she needed to reach Boston that day without fail. As she turned the corner she saw the bus waiting a half  block ahead. She could not wait to reach the warmth of its interior - she needed to sleep. she was up at five this morning and for her that was a minor miracle. But her need had driven her - she knew she needed to rescue the one relationship in her life that made any sense the one relationship that had any good in it. : She needed to hang onto the one love that had finally satisfied her deep hunger and needs

His bitter words still rung in her ears and her tears still came too easily as she made her way to the bus that would hopefully save her life and her love.

She was there and she felt a sense of relief as she climbed the stairs to the warmth of the bus. The warm struck her and she was reminded of his warmth - as his arms enveloped her so many times before

If only if only ---  she found a seat and an aisle to herself. As she settled into her seat she compulsively checked her phone to see if he had texted. He always texted - he was compulsive about being in touch and connected.  But as she glanced at the screen there was nothing. This could mean only one thing and her tears returned silently

  The screen was blank - even her tears could not obscure that fact! She knew what that meant what it always meant. He was angry and his anger had not abated. He left her last night and the parting words rang in her ears like sour gongs and bells.

  

Yet here she was on her way to Boston. He did not text and she told herself that he was still wallowing in his bitterness and anger. That was his way not to text when he always did.

 The bus came to life she could feel the throb of the engine she turned her face to the window and surveyed the grey morning - ashes to match the ashes in her heart. They moved out onto the road. Soon the warmth, her tiredness and the throb and motion of the buss lulled her into a forgetful sleep

She did not dream but was as if dead and devoid of thought

                                                                                                                

 She woke at Hartford. Her neck ached from the sleeping position she had occupied - her eyes were sandy and caked from her tears and her mouth dry and like cotton. She reached for the water she had packed and drank deeply - thinking how after they had made love she offered him the bottle of water to drink from and then she would drink herself.  The memory only served to sadden her as she thought of him and the words the many words that had passed between them the night before - bitter words - sweet words angry words - silence so much silence

The bus ran forward on its inexorable march to Boston taking her to that crises that would either make her so incredibly happy or so profoundly miserable. If only he would forgive her - if only he would open his eyes and his heart and see that she had meant no harm - it was meaningless it was stupid it had no real meaning. Why did he insist on being so narrow so closed so fixed in his own opinions?

MIRROR

                            REFLECTION - LIGHT

                                           STUDY