Creativity is the sudden cessation of stupidity.

Boat. Sullivan's Cove, Hobart Waterfront. May 2012.

Two books this week, perhaps best read as a pair. First up is
84, Charing Cross Road by Helene Hanff. A publishing sensation, this is a collection of letters shared between a little-known, middle-aged American writer and the staff of Marks & Co, an antiquarian bookshop in London over two decades – from Britain’s post-war austerity to the Swinging Sixties.

As such, it is an interesting document of the special relationships that can develop over a love of books. Slight, but charming. Recommended.

Second up is the companion piece, Duchess of Bloomsbury Street. Essentially the diary of Hanff's first trip to London after the success of the first book,it catalogues her meeting a cast of characters the book has thrown into her life.

While it's an enjoyable experience to see the effect of unexpected literary success, I found Hanff herself a reasonably annoying protagonist. Only for those who really need the closure.

Comments

Kris McCracken said…

Где же люди?

13 September 2012 at 13:28

If you want to be loved, be lovable.

Henry admires the view.

Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it...

I still have the robot on the job. Here you can see the Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery . And here is a poem: Soliloquy for One Dead Bruce Dawe Ah, no, Joe, you never knew the whole of it, the whistling which is only the wind in the chimney's smoking belly, the footsteps on the muddy path that are always somebody else's. I think of your limbs down there, softly becoming mineral, the life of grasses, and the old love of you thrusts the tears up into my eyes, with the family aware and looking everywhere else. Sometimes when summer is over the land, when the heat quickens the deaf timbers, and birds are thick in the plumbs again, my heart sickens, Joe, calling for the water of your voice and the gone agony of your nearness. I try hard to forget, saying: If God wills, it must be so, because of His goodness, because- but the grasshopper memory leaps in the long thicket, knowing no ease. Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it... I like Bruce Dawe. He just my be my favourite Austral

Zeal, n. A certain nervous disorder afflicting the young and inexperienced. A passion that goeth before a sprawl.

Here I have tried my hand at the homemade sepia-toned photo. I wasn’t happy with the way that the sun had washed out some of the colours in the original, so had a bit of a fiddle because I like the look on Henry’s face, and didn’t want to pass on posting it. I have a tip for those of you burdened with the great, unceasing weight of parenthood. I have a new recipe, in the vein of the quick microwaved chocolate cake . Get this, microwaved potato chips . I gave them a run on Sunday, Henry liked the so much I did it again last night. Tonight, I shall be experimenting with sweet potato. I think that the ground is open for me to exploit opportunities in the swede, turnip, carrot and maybe even explore in the area of pumpkins. Radical, I know. I’m a boundary-pusher by nature. It's pretty simple, take the potato. Slice it thinly (it doesn't have to be too thin, but thin enough). Lay the slices on the microwave plate, whack a bit of salt over the top and nuke the buggers for five minut

This will hurt me...

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