Incentivized comment-writing this morning with a donut. After today, only three more lectures and two more seminar meetings - it can be done, especially as (miraculously) I do not need to travel over Thanksgiving....
Last week was a bit too busy, and culminated in an enjoyable but demanding weekend trip to Philadelphia, but this week I have every evening at home: beneficial for mental health. B. arrives tomorrow, which is also good and will make me work less this weekend than I have over the last few days. Will either run or go to yoga this afternoon depending on some light/temperature/laziness calculus as yet to be determined, but more immediately am going to get into bed with my Kindle and start reading Joshilyn Jackson's new novel, which I have been eagerly awaiting.
(There is a whole next round of letters of recommendation coming up due, but I cannot face them until later in the week!)
Light reading around the edges:
Richard Kadrey's Dead Set (not bad, but I read it just after finishing The Goldfinch, an imperfect novel whose language is so rich and satisfying that anything else feels flat and monochromatic afterwards); Shawn Vestal's short memoir A. K. A. Charles Abbott; and Kate Maruyama's Harrowgate.
Closing tabs:
The utility of post-its, George R. R. Martin edition.
I want this pie! (Also to read a Sacksian essay on octopus consciousness.)
An interesting article by James Mallinson on the early history of hatha yoga.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Laughed out loud at the post-its!
ReplyDeleteAll novels are imperfect, some just more so than others. But as a reader, I'm becoming increasingly impatient i.e. bored with so-called rousing good stories. If the language is rich and satisfying, I can ignore any manner of flaws. Mostly, I don't even notice them!
ReplyDelete