You see? Give me a little time and I’ll get back to literature, which is after all my metier. Only one of which one ought to have, according to Gertrude Stein, but then she was born into at least moderate wealth. In any case, literature. Which ought to have something to say about life. Now […]

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Virginia Woolf, as near as I can tell, never finished what is widely considered one of the greatest novels ever written.  Tom Eliot had been praising it to the skies, and maybe, she says, that is why she admittedly approached Ulysses with a chip on her shoulder.  Then she had trouble getting into it, and […]

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My extended tour of early 20th century English writing continues to be both amusing and instructive.  I don’t know of any other time and place in which writers were thinking and talking and writing so extensively about writing.  In London you had the Bloomsberries and the anti-Bloomsberries duking it out in magazines, newspapers, lecture halls, […]

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The books ought to arrive in about two weeks now, and though there are things I could be working on (a short story, the next novel, learning how to run the website) I’ve been reading instead, and being generally lazy.  So lazy that I’m going to punt on today’s entry, and just put down a […]

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