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If we were farther north, this would probably be called an Indian summer, where this surge of heat would be welcomed, another chance for the kids to go outside and play some baseball or football, and a nice respite before winter really lays down the hammer.
I don’t suppose the concept applies here in the deep south, where we have the sense that summer never truly leaves us, where winter only pushes off the summer for a few days now and again. And I’m just longing for the air-conditioner, remembering how much I hate to perspire for just sitting around.
It doesn't help that I am in between books, which is like a drug addict being in between hits. I'm climbing the walls. Dosty's "Idiot" failed me, and then I thought that Shakes's "Taming of the Shrew" would pull me through, but I open it and I'm just not feeling it. The Illiad? Maugham's "Of Human Bondage"? Maybe Raymond Chandler's "The Big Sleep"? Nothing really feels right, and I won't feel right until something does...
You know it's bad when you start opting for some housework, but that TV has been dusty for a loooong long time, and the stuff is caked on.
.......
“Today I feel no wish to demonstrate that sanity is impossible. On the contrary, though I remain no less sadly certain than in the past that sanity is a rather rare phenomenon, I am convinced that it can be achieved and would like to see more of it.”
-- Aldous Huxley
And the winner is Huxley's "Brave New World". A broadly darkly comical treatment of the dystopian future should calm me down for a while. A shame that it is such a brief read, even with my more leisurely pace, but anything that can save me for another few days is manna from Heaven.
As for the Huxley quote, he is writing fifteen years after the publication and success of the novel, and although it is nice to see that he apparently mellowed in the interval, it seems to have taken a toll on his philosophical acumen, sacrificing his hard realistic edge for a certain sappy optimism and hopefulness. Fortunately for us, the novel stays the same. You have to love a suicidal ending.
.......
I forget how slow-going the beginning of the novel is, being a dry tour of the human hatchery and the Bokanovsky process, the mass-production of twins: "Ninety-six identical twins working ninety-six identical machines!" I suppose, for the first-time reader, the cold presentation of this material might provide a horrifying chill, but it is a good thing for me that I know this story gets better.
I don’t suppose the concept applies here in the deep south, where we have the sense that summer never truly leaves us, where winter only pushes off the summer for a few days now and again. And I’m just longing for the air-conditioner, remembering how much I hate to perspire for just sitting around.
It doesn't help that I am in between books, which is like a drug addict being in between hits. I'm climbing the walls. Dosty's "Idiot" failed me, and then I thought that Shakes's "Taming of the Shrew" would pull me through, but I open it and I'm just not feeling it. The Illiad? Maugham's "Of Human Bondage"? Maybe Raymond Chandler's "The Big Sleep"? Nothing really feels right, and I won't feel right until something does...
You know it's bad when you start opting for some housework, but that TV has been dusty for a loooong long time, and the stuff is caked on.
.......
“Today I feel no wish to demonstrate that sanity is impossible. On the contrary, though I remain no less sadly certain than in the past that sanity is a rather rare phenomenon, I am convinced that it can be achieved and would like to see more of it.”
-- Aldous Huxley
And the winner is Huxley's "Brave New World". A broadly darkly comical treatment of the dystopian future should calm me down for a while. A shame that it is such a brief read, even with my more leisurely pace, but anything that can save me for another few days is manna from Heaven.
As for the Huxley quote, he is writing fifteen years after the publication and success of the novel, and although it is nice to see that he apparently mellowed in the interval, it seems to have taken a toll on his philosophical acumen, sacrificing his hard realistic edge for a certain sappy optimism and hopefulness. Fortunately for us, the novel stays the same. You have to love a suicidal ending.
.......
I forget how slow-going the beginning of the novel is, being a dry tour of the human hatchery and the Bokanovsky process, the mass-production of twins: "Ninety-six identical twins working ninety-six identical machines!" I suppose, for the first-time reader, the cold presentation of this material might provide a horrifying chill, but it is a good thing for me that I know this story gets better.
