I have the conviction that excessive literary production is a social offence.

Mushrooms, they're great all-rounders! Lake Dobson, Mount Field National Park. April 2013.

The Whispering Muse, Sjón: A lovely blend of imagery and allusion that draws heavily on the seafaring myths of various nations. At the end of the book, narrator responds to the assertion that he has changed since returning from the voyage recounted in the book with another question: "What is the point of travelling if not to broaden your mind?" An odd little lyrical beauty, I really liked it very much. B+.

Modern British Posters: Art, Design and Communication, Paul Rennie: essentially a history of the modern British poster from 1915 to 1970. Even moreso, it serves as a decent history of British society, culture, politics and the economy in that period. C+.

St. Lucy's Home for Girls Raised by Wolves, Karen Russell: This collection of short stories is at times creative, imaginative and fun. However, all too frequently, the stories simply end, without resolution. Now that's an acceptable literary device, but after a book full of them, you are tempted to assume that Russell just doesn't know how to end a story. C-.

Comments

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...

Search This Blog