(no subject)
The apartment that I thought was going to be mine fell through on Monday, explosively. It fell through in a hail of harsh words and glaring, all of which came to me secondhand, thankfully. It fell through like something punctured. It was an apartment on which sweet-smelling shiny layers of this is what my life would be could be built. The new-new apartment is closer to the subway, is bigger, has a gas stove and a very lovely kitchen. But it is not a fantasy apartment. In this apartment I think we will have to approach the realities of daily living like something that is built slowly, not flung up instant and seamless. Which I suppose is probably better in the end, but the old-new apartment-that was a gorgeous apartment. All sunny and buoyant.
I finished Howards End yesterday, sitting in front of Papaccino's in the sun. Annie came up behind me on her bike and spoiled the momentum of the ending, but it's hard to be upset about running into a friend. It makes me want to reread On Beauty, because the slight alterations of correspondence intrigue me. Victoria, in On Beauty, has no analogue, I think. (Oh, that's not true, she's Paul Wilcox. Well, but only sort of.) Also Howard's wife, whose name I've forgotten although she was mostly my favorite character. Clearly, she is mostly analogous to Margaret Schlegel, but I'm interested in the persistent discussion of her fatness. I think, actually, that the addition of her fatness (and Zora's unbeauty, and the scene of the class ordering food at the poetry slam, which sticks with me) is the way in which On Beauty most firmly places itself in the contemporary world. It's interesting that there's so much less focus on actual, literal money in On Beauty. In money's stead, Zadie Smith is focusing on an interpersonal economy, built of aesthetics. It is a painting instead of a house. Still an economy. Much less up-front. Much more coded. I wish I had On Beauty in Portland, but I don't.
So I've started Laughter in the Dark instead. Which hopefully will be unrelated.
(You don't have to pay any attention to any of that, really.)
Unrelated to any of the foregoing, Poirot remarks thusly: "There are three people to whom a woman should speak the truth: to her father confessor, to her hairdresser, and to her private detective-if she trusts him."
I finished Howards End yesterday, sitting in front of Papaccino's in the sun. Annie came up behind me on her bike and spoiled the momentum of the ending, but it's hard to be upset about running into a friend. It makes me want to reread On Beauty, because the slight alterations of correspondence intrigue me. Victoria, in On Beauty, has no analogue, I think. (Oh, that's not true, she's Paul Wilcox. Well, but only sort of.) Also Howard's wife, whose name I've forgotten although she was mostly my favorite character. Clearly, she is mostly analogous to Margaret Schlegel, but I'm interested in the persistent discussion of her fatness. I think, actually, that the addition of her fatness (and Zora's unbeauty, and the scene of the class ordering food at the poetry slam, which sticks with me) is the way in which On Beauty most firmly places itself in the contemporary world. It's interesting that there's so much less focus on actual, literal money in On Beauty. In money's stead, Zadie Smith is focusing on an interpersonal economy, built of aesthetics. It is a painting instead of a house. Still an economy. Much less up-front. Much more coded. I wish I had On Beauty in Portland, but I don't.
So I've started Laughter in the Dark instead. Which hopefully will be unrelated.
(You don't have to pay any attention to any of that, really.)
Unrelated to any of the foregoing, Poirot remarks thusly: "There are three people to whom a woman should speak the truth: to her father confessor, to her hairdresser, and to her private detective-if she trusts him."