Queneau’s Skin of Dreams and Bioy Casares’ Asleep in the Sun were returned without further reading. I’m not rejecting them. I just wasn’t in the mood, as i’d already read a book by each author recently.
This time i picked up:
- Sky: Memoirs. Blaise Cendrars. It’s the last volume of his memoirs, but that’s fine. It doesn’t seem that he follows any kind of narrative from my brief reading. Yep. So far it does indeed seem that his memoirs far exceed Moravagine. Cendrars is rapidly becoming a hero, as he’s articulate, funny, and experienced.
- La Maison de Rendez-Vous & Djinn. Alain Robb-Grillet. He popped his clogs ths week, so i’m giving him a try. Eh… not bad, but was this the right place to start? The arbitrary mystery is not a problem, but it still feels stilted and cold.
- Difficult Loves. Italo Calvino. Nope. I missed this one early on, and skipped it for years, as i was saving it for a dry spell. With the lists of books To Read sprawling, there will possibly never be a dry spell.
- The Complete Butcher’s Tales. Rikki Ducornet. My friend Danielle read her years ago, liked it, but felt uncomfortable recommending it. I read a collection of Ducornet’s essays awhile back, and found them pretty cool. Bill is now saying that he’s weird, which is always a good sign.
- Perdido Street Station. China Miéville. I’ve been meaning to read this for years. Since i’ve been pussyfooting around with reading science fiction and fantasy again, i might as well read this giant of the new canon. Yep. Smart. Inventive. Intriguing. Why do i still feel like i’m reading junk food and should be focusing more on something like Cendrars? Maybe i should have bought Perdido Street Station so that i’m not stuck feeling that i have to finish it inside of three weeks. There would be less of an urge to play triage with my reading. Buying Little, Big has let me relax, and take it at its own pace, with less judgment.
The student worker who was at the desk thought that i was getting these books for a class. He felt sorry for me. When I explained that i’m not even in school, he felt even sorrier for me.