I have just had rather a dreadful week due to circumstances well beyond my control (medical calamity of an extended family member, won't go into more detail than that!), and in short, the spring break that I hoped might be restorative just dug me deeper into the hole!
Last night, on a plane to San Antonio for the big annual eighteenth-century studies conference, I thought with dislike about the deep unpleasantness of flying and the unfortunate scheduling of such academic events at a time of year when I am already in any case barely keeping my head above water.
In short, I have been grumpy and glum indeed!
However now that I have actually written my paper (it was in my head, but I did not have time and concentration to get it down on the page until just this afternoon in my hotel room), I feel much less grumpy - that is good. I remain perplexed that the institution of these conferences still has so much traction in the age of the internet (if one thousand academics each need to spend something in the region of $1,500, probably mostly reimbursed by their home institutions but often coming at least partly out of pocket, and 10 hours of travel time and an entire Wednesday to Sunday when none of their other work and life responsibilities offer any surcease,
just in order to press the flesh, is that really a good use of communal resources?), but it is admittedly a very attractive setting here, and I will go out for dinner later on with my graduate students and junior colleagues from Columbia.
The conference hotel is very nice! The metaphysical advantages of non-virtual presence, though, are surely overrated.
Closing tabs:
Ed Park on Harry Stephen Keeler;
Amy Davidson on the Hunger Games and counterinsurgency;
at the TLS, Robert D. Hume on Michael Dobson's book about amateur Shakespeare performance.
Light reading around the edges:
A wonderful book by Will Chaffey, someone I only met recently in the wake of Carey Monserrat's death, called
Swimming with Crocodiles (free for Kindle with Amazon Prime, though enthusiasm led me to purchase my copy before I realized I could get it for free!); very vivid and moving in its account of the geology and wildlife of Australia, and also a nerve-racking survivalist tale of a wilderness trek that did
not make me reverse my anti-camping position (but I do wish I could go swimming with 'freshies' if not with 'salties'!);
Lauren Groff's mesmerizing and moving
Arcadia, which I resisted at first but then fell into headlong (it is not relevant, but I am predisposed to like Groff's work not just because I enjoyed
her first novel so much but also because her sister is a top
triathlete!);
Seanan McGuire's new novel
Discount Armageddon, which is full of charming and humorous details and which I thoroughly recommend if you read this sort of thing;
and an electronic advance copy of Rosamond Lupton's forthcoming
Afterwards, which will sound ludicrous if I describe it to you and whose narrative premise I cannot really endorse as a matter of principle but which is certainly one of the most grippingly readable thrillers I will read this year. It was the only redeeming feature of yesterday's plane flight, that's for sure!
In conclusion, saltwater crocodiles are almost certainly more dangerous than sharks, from a swimmer's point of view - a shark is only going to chomp you by accident (especially if you're wearing a wetsuit that makes you resemble a seal), whereas the croc really does want to digest not just your limbs but probably also your torso if at all possible.
Now I am going to go and find the business center to print out my paper....
