I'm smack dab in the middle of Naguib Mahfouz's Cairo Trilogy (Palace Walk; Palace of Desire; Sugar Street). The thing that has surprised me most is that, in spite of the vast cultural gulf that separates this twenty-first century reader from early twentieth centry Egypt, I feel quite at home in the world of these books. It turns out that, underneath the cultural strata, the human mind works in much the same way around the world. And people, no matter how religious or zealous, behave and misbehave in similar ways.
If you've ever thought that venturing into world literature might be daunting or alienating, no worries with Mahfouz. You'll recognize his neighborhood as your own.
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Sunday, December 21, 2008
By Way of Introduction
I come from a long line of people who wanted to be writers. So far, we've all turned out to be some version of a government clerk.
I wanted to be a writer until I understood an unwriterly thing about myself: I'm very secretive. The urge to write is severely hampered by the urge to conceal. In order to continue to write, therefore, I needed to choose a medium in which my writings, in all probability, will never be read.
Ergo, this blog.
I wanted to be a writer until I understood an unwriterly thing about myself: I'm very secretive. The urge to write is severely hampered by the urge to conceal. In order to continue to write, therefore, I needed to choose a medium in which my writings, in all probability, will never be read.
Ergo, this blog.
This Blog is a Joke!
I can't say I've done wonders with my life, but I've done a few things I'm proud of: I've run a marathon; I've read "Ulysses" and "In Search of Lost Time"; and I made up this joke:
Q. What was the name of Nabokov's dog?
A. Memory.
Q. What was the name of Nabokov's dog?
A. Memory.
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