Afloat in a sea of Literature
So, as the title does command such imagery, I am quite surrounded with books at the moment.
It started some time late in the month of July when I decided that I had not been reading enough. With a quick trip to my favorite hole-in-the-wall used book store I at last had the means to satisfy my thirst for the written word (at a mere $2.40 a book).
I will admit that these first morsels were pulpy things that, while rich in flavor, lacked any deeper satisfaction; a common texture if you will. However, they did serve as an aperitif of sorts.
So what next to whole cast into my gullet? Something richer, I demanded. I tried for a time to assuage my creative hunger with writing, but with each word I only craved more. Truly it is a different hunger.
And so I came to Milton. What greater feast could one ask? Here there is not just the work of one man, but of hundreds down the line of time. Milton took the finest recipes of Homer and Dante and added his own spices to create a dish best served brazed over Hell fires. The resulting masterpiece, Paradise Lost, has an essence rich in lore that few works rival. I am tempted to again try to digest Virgil's Aeneid, but as a first course it was more than I could chew.
So now that this finer tone had been well played out my appetite grew baser yet. Raw humanity is what it cried for, laced with fantastic spice. Carefully I planned, browsing the shelves of store after store. What drink to match to my divine meal? And I remembered. George R. R. Martin a year ago captured my attention beyond all else with A Storm of Swords. Such sweeping work chased away all hunger and left me near to bursting with the lives of kings and peasants, wizards and dragons. Should I dare that fiery repast again?
After a long search I had it at last. A Feast for Crows the next installment. I knew that I should not, lest I put down my senses and ignore the world in favor of A Song of Fire and Ice. No! Famine, that compatriot of Death whispered in my ear that if I do not feed my creative spirit then it will whither and he will cast it headlong down to that famous horseman. A risk both unnecessary and one I would not take. So after a brief purchase I once again can supply my starving mind its raw human story prepared in a way that will not sour me on it.
Jeeze, are you listening to this guy? He's reading some books!
By the by some important things. I'm preparing for the GRE next week and still working in the lab and trying to spend time with
wyrdtimes while I can. Too much to do and still all I want is to sit with a book.
It started some time late in the month of July when I decided that I had not been reading enough. With a quick trip to my favorite hole-in-the-wall used book store I at last had the means to satisfy my thirst for the written word (at a mere $2.40 a book).
I will admit that these first morsels were pulpy things that, while rich in flavor, lacked any deeper satisfaction; a common texture if you will. However, they did serve as an aperitif of sorts.
So what next to whole cast into my gullet? Something richer, I demanded. I tried for a time to assuage my creative hunger with writing, but with each word I only craved more. Truly it is a different hunger.
And so I came to Milton. What greater feast could one ask? Here there is not just the work of one man, but of hundreds down the line of time. Milton took the finest recipes of Homer and Dante and added his own spices to create a dish best served brazed over Hell fires. The resulting masterpiece, Paradise Lost, has an essence rich in lore that few works rival. I am tempted to again try to digest Virgil's Aeneid, but as a first course it was more than I could chew.
So now that this finer tone had been well played out my appetite grew baser yet. Raw humanity is what it cried for, laced with fantastic spice. Carefully I planned, browsing the shelves of store after store. What drink to match to my divine meal? And I remembered. George R. R. Martin a year ago captured my attention beyond all else with A Storm of Swords. Such sweeping work chased away all hunger and left me near to bursting with the lives of kings and peasants, wizards and dragons. Should I dare that fiery repast again?
After a long search I had it at last. A Feast for Crows the next installment. I knew that I should not, lest I put down my senses and ignore the world in favor of A Song of Fire and Ice. No! Famine, that compatriot of Death whispered in my ear that if I do not feed my creative spirit then it will whither and he will cast it headlong down to that famous horseman. A risk both unnecessary and one I would not take. So after a brief purchase I once again can supply my starving mind its raw human story prepared in a way that will not sour me on it.
Jeeze, are you listening to this guy? He's reading some books!
By the by some important things. I'm preparing for the GRE next week and still working in the lab and trying to spend time with
wyrdtimes while I can. Too much to do and still all I want is to sit with a book.