Pages of Jesse's manuscript read today: 40 (double-spaced)
Yes, it is really June 6th as I write this, but I read until I could not keep my eyes open last night and didn't feel up to this on the way to bed. The painkiller/muscle relaxer/anti-depressant combo = a damn good sleep.
I have had one of those Murphy's Law weekends. Oral surgery Friday. Drama on Saturday when the guy from Rob's work, staying with us after separating from his wife, and his wife had a loud "discussion" in our driveway. And Sunday we worked all day on getting the fancy (one year old) pool we bought for our nephews ready for the year, only to discover more leaks than we can patch. It is under warranty for some time still, but I hate the waiting while we fix it. I sure planned on swimming today with Hunter. I even bought a special little float for our glass chess set to float on so we could play in the pool. Best laid plans.
In spite of all this, I managed to read another nice chunk of Ninety-Two in the Shade. It is slow going, partially because of the denseness of his style and the fishing guide terminology (that I feel compelled to look up) and partially because it is so amazingly crafted that I have slowed down to really soak it all up. I hope to finish it today, and will return with a full report later.
For now, some great bits that I want to share:
Upon occasion, a man had to manufacture his own hell-fire, either for himself or others: as one kind of homebrew for the spirit's extremer voyages. (56)
But there is a life that is not a life, in which the more adamant obstructions of the heart masquerade as loss, dreams, or carburetor trouble.A silent man wastes his own swerve of molecules; just as a bee "doing its number on the flower" is as gone to history as if it never was. The thing and its expression are to be found shaking hands at precisely that point where Neverneverland and Illyria collide with the Book of Revelation under that downpour of grackle droppings that is the present at any given time. (83)
When the sun first assembles itself over the broken skyline of Key West on a morning of great humidity, a thunderous light fills the city and everyone moves in stately rotation through the streets that are conduits of something empyrean. Also, things can get sweaty. (83)
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