Youmans (pronounced like 'yeoman' with an 's' added) is the best-kept secret among contemporary American writers. --John Wilson, editor, Books and Culture

Thursday, September 06, 2012

Updatery

Things done well and with a care, exempt themselves from fear.
--Shakespeare, Measure for Measure

Today is the first day of high school in the Village of Coopertown, so lark-rising season begins for me and my youngest. Tomorrow I tote my two eldest to driving school as well, as it is time for one young man and one young woman to learn how to navigate the world. My husband seems to be having a fine time in Mozambique, and has not been eaten by lions or trampled by hippos.

Yesterday I finished the first stage of the reading that has occupied my time since early June. The guest room floor is impassable, a city with skyscraper stacks of books. And each volume is a separate world with its own angle of vision and laws and dreams. Lately I have read some good books, particularly novels, that I will not forget and that will no doubt lure me on in some dream of winning those "silver apples of the moon." As Henry James said of novels, "the good subsists and emits its light and stimulates our desire for perfection."

But now it is time to catch up on all the things I have left undone, from my garden to promised writing and contracts to be reviewed and house repair.

4 comments:

  1. Yay, first stage done! I don't know how you do it, I don't have all that reading and still have not gotten to stage two :-)

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  2. Dithering and reading, I bet : )

    Still, it's a nice day for both if truth be told.

    Are you also waiting for the storms that we have been promised here, Marly? I SOOooo need a gobsmacking storm tonight!
    All is so quiet. So dry still.

    Napping to a storm just may be the ticket!

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  3. Rereading...

    Rereading is my favorite reading, most of the time, so that is all right!

    Maybe. The sky looks like a smudge.

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Alas, I must once again remind large numbers of Chinese salesmen and other worldwide peddlers that if they fall into the Gulf of Spam, they will be eaten by roaming Balrogs. The rest of you, lovers of grace, poetry, and horses (nod to Yeats--you do not have to be fond of horses), feel free to leave fascinating missives and curious arguments.