Jan 24, 2013 23:53
Of late I've had the privilege of reading the works of authors with whom I have friendships. Much as the need to connect more deeply to the family that had housed me on my first trip to France, motivated me to attain greater fluency in my mother's father's mother-tongue, the opportunity to chat up the author after having read her/his work, makes the work a great deal more compelling.
If there's a drawback to such, it's that one's objectivity in analysing the work of a friend, is necessarily compromised.
Today I was chatting with a woman whose dense work of literary criticism, I'm in the painstaking process of reading. The following entretient took place:
briseur: Been reading your book about RM. All of this about metaphor and possibility and transgression, finds me considering implications in my own life.
quisereve: [characteristically enthousiaste] Good! That's what one hopes for. I mean why else would one read it?
b: [reflects a moment] I was about to say to edify oneslef, but maybe those are the same? Is it possible to edify oneself without considering the implications in one's own life?
q: [after a glissement of discomfort] That would just be pedantry!
Delightful, to have her condescend to my pretension.