Frustrated aesthete
Sunday, April 7th, 2013 07:00 pmThere's room for an essay on 'How Sei Shonagon ruined my life' but I'll spare you the length. Is mostly about how at eighteen I conceived the notion that the essence of life was exquisite moments, preferably exquisitely observed or recollected, where every detail came together to be just *right*.
So there I was on a lovely spring day, intending to have excellent lattes and sandwiches in that exquisite little coffee shop-in-a-house nearby while reading the perfect book-- and the perfect book was not forthcoming. The Quincunx is too heavy for travelling, and anyway I'm all 'meh' because as far as I've read, Dickens does it better in Bleak House and Great Expectations. My Buddhist reading is now into doctrinal stuff that can't be viewed as a pleasant romp. I have finished Inspector Hanshichi, who was perfect as far as he lasted, which was yesterday. I have two Japanese books in translation, rescued from the basement, but neither is the serendip of The Plum-rain Scroll. One is about cannibalism on Hokkaido during the war, and the other is Child of Fortune, which reads no better now that I've been to Japan than it did before. Perhaps if one is straight, and has children, or might have children, a heroine who goes about mooning over the men in her life and the kids she might have by them is rivetting. But it doesn't speak to me at all. I am promised Changes, eventually, but I can't guarantee I'll last till I get there.
Also the perfect little coffee-house was full of people who had moved in with their Macs, and while I was waiting some generous Suit decided to treat the friends who'd arrived just after me, effectively jumping them the queue, and then another group came in and bagged the stools at the counter. So no exquisite sandwich for me. Yes, yes, is why one should eschew the hangouts of Euppies, but periodically one wants a break from Starbux. Where people are also settled in with their Macs, unmoving for the whole afternoon. Truly, does no one ever so accidentally on purpose trip with their latte and flood one of those things? because lord I have been so tempted at times...
So there I was on a lovely spring day, intending to have excellent lattes and sandwiches in that exquisite little coffee shop-in-a-house nearby while reading the perfect book-- and the perfect book was not forthcoming. The Quincunx is too heavy for travelling, and anyway I'm all 'meh' because as far as I've read, Dickens does it better in Bleak House and Great Expectations. My Buddhist reading is now into doctrinal stuff that can't be viewed as a pleasant romp. I have finished Inspector Hanshichi, who was perfect as far as he lasted, which was yesterday. I have two Japanese books in translation, rescued from the basement, but neither is the serendip of The Plum-rain Scroll. One is about cannibalism on Hokkaido during the war, and the other is Child of Fortune, which reads no better now that I've been to Japan than it did before. Perhaps if one is straight, and has children, or might have children, a heroine who goes about mooning over the men in her life and the kids she might have by them is rivetting. But it doesn't speak to me at all. I am promised Changes, eventually, but I can't guarantee I'll last till I get there.
Also the perfect little coffee-house was full of people who had moved in with their Macs, and while I was waiting some generous Suit decided to treat the friends who'd arrived just after me, effectively jumping them the queue, and then another group came in and bagged the stools at the counter. So no exquisite sandwich for me. Yes, yes, is why one should eschew the hangouts of Euppies, but periodically one wants a break from Starbux. Where people are also settled in with their Macs, unmoving for the whole afternoon. Truly, does no one ever so accidentally on purpose trip with their latte and flood one of those things? because lord I have been so tempted at times...
