Autumn 2020: Is Everything Getting Dimmer or Is It Just Me?

I agree with that. I think I'd probably love a Heaney or Merrill book or two, if I revisited.

Along those lines, though, and perhaps to prove that I am able to be convinced, I will note that this year, I read a number of Barbara Guest books, and simply couldn't understand why she was so popular. Then someone recommended 'The Türler Losses,' and it is a masterpiece, just an incredible book.

For Merrill, I've not read 'Changing Light at Sandover' since an undergrad, but I found it masterful then. It's the rest of his work that I find lacking.

For Heaney, the bog poems will always reverberate in my memory. Everything else seems quite dull to me.

G K Chesterton - Robert Browning

I finished this short biography/critical appraisal by Chesterton and I very much enjoyed following his logic as he not only deal with Browning's life and work, but also his critics. At times it was a counterpart (of sorts) to what Janet Malcolm was doing to Sylvia Plath's many biographers.

I broke down and started a new WAYR thread:

Winter 2021: ...and you're reading WHAT?!

only post to it if it's 2021 in ur time zone please folks

I finished Lethem's THE ARREST.

It ends with quite a large climax, which rearranges key items and characters of the novel in a quite a vividly schematic and spatial way.

It may leave some loose ends and unexplained story elements.

I finished Dissipatio H.G.. It belongs to that special pantheon of books that were finished shortly before the author committed suicide (cf. Stefan Zweig's The World of Yesterday). It's hard to read a book like that without looking for clues to the author's pathology. This books offers plenty of suggestive clues if that's what you're looking for. I don't want to completely conflate the author with the narrator, there are some obvious differences, such as their age, but also plenty of overlap. Both seem to be very well read, moderately-antisocial autodidacts, who live by choice in a remote mountain village, dislike cities, and distrust the bien pensant intellectual currents of their day. The book is short but chock full of obscure allusions. I was halfway through before I realized there were end notes, which helped quite a bit. The title is illustrative, in that it is putatively drawn from a Latin letter written by an obscure Neoplatonist philosopher. The philosopher is real, although the letter itself may have been a little joke of the author's. It seems that many of these little jokes were intended for a very select audience, possibly including only the author himself. I guess that fits with the book's imagined scenario, but can make for frustrating reading, if that's not your sort of thing. Now, I'm reading The A26 by Pascal Garnier.