The Holiday Continues

I'm not managing to read as much as I had planned thise three-day Labor Day weekend. My Bookman, who rarely gets to be home on weekends, has had two of the three days off. There's walks to take and movies to rent and errands to run and coffee and snacks to enjoy. It's not over just yet so I'll be able to squeeze in a few more pages. I have gotten through about 50 pages of Don Quixote and have regretted reading it in such bits and pieces. When read in larger chunks it really is much more absorbing. I read a chapter of Rings of Saturn last night. Savoring, savoring. What a wonderful and amazing book. The Guardian has a thoughtful essay by Richard Ford that begins:

A friend, an editor, called me. Do I know someone who can write about New Orleans? he asked. Tell us what it's like to be there now. Bring us close to what people are experiencing, to the sense of loss, to what will survive. He knew I'd lived there, had a long experience but was now gone, and so would pass this writing on to someone else. I certainly do, I said. My mind began to turn a list of names. And how do we find them? he asked. Well, of course, I said. We can't find them. They're in the city. Or they're elsewhere. They're someplace, but I don't know where. I don't know what to tell you.

And if the news of Louisiana and Mississippi starts to drag you down, you can always read one of James Meeks' recommendations from his top ten books of Russia. If a Russian novel doesn't cheer you up, I don't know what will.