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....I read secretly in bed when I was supposed to be sleeping.

Did everyone do that, or only people who grow up to post about what they're reading?

 

I had to use the flashlight, myself. No sreet lights, or sidewalks for that matter, when I was that age.

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Just finished Ask the Dust by John Fante, a slim novel which didn't live up to the extravagant praise I've heard from Bukowski fans. Henry Miller and Hubert Selby did this kind of thing much better.

I'm currently reading Middlesex, has anyone else read it? I remember it being discussed elsewhere and people were criticizing the fact that it won the pulitzer prize. Maybe not Pulitzer Prize worthy

Several of the pieces in Paris to the Moon appeared earlier as Gopnik's monthly Letters from Paris to The New Yorker. His use of adjectives to describe the weather, the neighborhood, etc impressed me

....I read secretly in bed when I was supposed to be sleeping.

Did everyone do that, or only people who grow up to post about what they're reading?

 

I had to use the flashlight, myself. No sreet lights, or sidewalks for that matter, when I was that age.

 

I certainly did read in bed; the one time I remember getting caught (and one of the surprises of my life) was the night that I got the bright idea that if I held the little key-thing that turned my lamp on and off in just the right spot I'd be able to turn it off before my parents noticed.

 

When I got to a really exciting spot, I was too absorbed to notice that the lamp was flickering on and off with my nervous fingers. I heard a noise in the hall and looked up into my terrified/irate Dad's face---he'd seen the flicker and thought the room was on fire.

 

The surprised look on his face was certainly reflected on my own, for I glanced up and for the first time in my life, saw my Dad in his underwear.

 

 

 

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....I read secretly in bed when I was supposed to be sleeping.

Did everyone do that, or only people who grow up to post about what they're reading?

 

I had to use the flashlight, myself. No sreet lights, or sidewalks for that matter, when I was that age.

 

I did listen to the radio under the blankets too. When radios were small things with dials.

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A string of picture books on the history of ocean liners, of interest to boat geeks like me, and pretty much no one else.

By any chance do you belong to the World Ship Society?

No, they want money, and I am a cheap bastard.

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A string of picture books on the history of ocean liners, of interest to boat geeks like me, and pretty much no one else.

 

You have a friend in this corner, Rex.

Totally cool. My favorite liner is, well the Italian liner Rex.... image004.gif

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....I read secretly in bed when I was supposed to be sleeping.

Did everyone do that, or only people who grow up to post about what they're reading?

 

I had to use the flashlight, myself. No sreet lights, or sidewalks for that matter, when I was that age.

 

I did listen to the radio under the blankets too. When radios were small things with dials.

I was guilty of the exact same behavior as a child. I thought my parents had no idea about the books, flashlight and transistor radio hidden in a corner behind my bed (the radio was for listening to hockey games.) And then, several years ago my mother mentioned that she knew all about my secret stash.

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A string of picture books on the history of ocean liners, of interest to boat geeks like me, and pretty much no one else.

By any chance do you belong to the World Ship Society?

No, they want money, and I am a cheap bastard.

Good man!

 

A good friend of mine is very active in the WSS. I am a boat dilettante, I guess. I did 6 trans-Atlantic crossings in my youth including 2 on the SS France, courtesy of my parents, & got a bite from the ocean liner bug. Sadly, I've never been able to afford such indulgences on my own.

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Just finished reading The White Tiger by Aravind Adiga.

well deserved booker.

anyone reading it?

 

it has had some strange reviews by other indian writers. these are always amusing. particularly this

 

"I found the book a tedious, unfunny slog (.....) The tone of the writing is breezy-absurd, which means we can’t hold the writer accountable for anything that happens in the book. (...) There’s no accountability in the breezy-absurd school of literature ! Everything goes ! Nothing is real ! Lie back and open wide. (...) Echoes of the Indo-Internationalist club of literature can be heard throughout." - Manjula Padmanabhan, Outlook India
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Good man!

 

A good friend of mine is very active in the WSS. I am a boat dilettante, I guess. I did 6 trans-Atlantic crossings in my youth including 2 on the SS France, courtesy of my parents, & got a bite from the ocean liner bug. Sadly, I've never been able to afford such indulgences on my own.

I'm like, so jealous, ghostrider. What was the France like? And what were the names of the other liners you sailed on?

 

Other than the Naval vessels I've been stationed on (three), my ocean experience has been limited to Royal Caribbean and Carnival. The latter was actually better than the former in terms of quality, believe it or not.

 

I've collected most of Bill Miller's books and my most recent purchase was UK maritime historian Les Streater's, "L'Atlantique: Queen of the South Atlantic. Great pics of one of the unluckiest liners afloat. Her career lasted less than two years before she was destroyed by a mysterious fire in the English Channel in 1933. She did the Europe - South America run, and her interiors were designed by the same brilliant team that did the Ile de France and Normandie.

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The Wild Places, Robert Macfarlane.

 

The author of Mountains Of The Mind goes on a quest to explore the last remaining wild areas in the British Isles.

 

I can't remember another book where I have so much sympathy with the content & so little for the author's style. He (or his copy editor?) is totally smitten with commas & throws them like mud at every sentence, breaking up phrases & clauses and shattering the flow of his prose, not to mention the rules of grammar as I understand them.

 

He is also inordinately fond of verbless & fragmented sentences. For impact, usually at the end of a paragraph, as a purported crescendo. Lest we miss the point that this is the climactic sentence.

 

The result is a halting, awkward read. Still, I admire the breadth & depth of Macfarlane's research & his willingness to drag his sleeping bag to strange places. so I will persevere.

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I just finished a thumping big biography of Zola, for no particular reason other than I found a nice copy for $3 in a garage sale. By Frederick Brown, 1995.

 

I wonder how many of you know - without peeking - how he died? I certainly didn't. I had assumed natural causes.

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