Self finds it exceedingly curious that her backyard has all of the red flowers (The prevailing color scheme in the front yard is blue, white, and yellow)
Today, self’s in the thick of Patrick Leigh Fermor’s 1933 walk across Europe, A Time of Gifts. He spends much time in Germany. Aside from the historical value of seeing Germany through the prism of a British teen-ager, the writing is so drop-dead gorgeous that it fills self with the utmost awe and amazement. It makes self ineffably sad to think that this — the discovery of a new writer — can only be had once: that is, the next time she encounters a book by Fermor, she’ll know what to expect. There can’t be that excitement, that she feels right now.
Self remembers feeling similarly awed by the writing of Antonio Muñoz Molina in Sepharad. As regular dear blog readers know, self spent almost her whole month in Bacolod reading this one book. She’s often been tempted to buy a copy to keep, but she knows the experience of reading Sepharad in Bacolod, in January 2011, can never be duplicated. Even if she had the book, self would be extremely reluctant to tamper with the memory of reading it there, at that particular point in time, which she feels would inevitably happen if she began to re-read (Self, there you go again with your profound sensitivities!)
P. S.: Today, self happened to drop by Woodside Plaza. As further evidence (as if any were needed) that the California ecomony really really sucks, there was a big sign in front of neighborhood stalwart McWhorter’s Stationers: STORE CLOSING, EVERYTHING MUST GO.
Stay tuned, dear blog readers. Stay tuned.