funny how spending three months doing field ecology fieldwork at a remote field station will fire up the reader in you. been here 15 days and here's what i already have under my belt:
the second, longer, alternative extended reading of Julio Cortázar's Rayuela
Knut Hamsun's Hunger (much better this second time)
David Sedaris' Me Talk Pretty one Day
I'm currently like five pages into William Faulkner's The Sound and the Fury, and i'm blissfully confused. I can't wait to figure out what is going on exactly. It has been quite a while since i picked up a book without having anybody recommend it; i feel so brave. Well, actually there was a passing mention of "Faulkner's Tennessee" in my Sedaris (right after "Joyce's Dublin") but i think that is vague enough that i deserve some credit. I bought my 1960s Faulkner Reader for three dollars from the hippie bookstore in the township of Bolinas, CA, a town itself stuck in the sixties. The population seems to be made up exclusively of wealthy retired hippies and bums. Sometimes it's hard picking the two apart. But back to the bookstore. Every book there costs a dollar, unless you feel it's worth two or three, or ten or twelve. There is no cash register, but a cookie jar where you place your money and collect change as necessary. The administration urges you, though, to stick to the honesty system.
So i also bought two tattered trash paperbacks: Thomas Harris' Hannibal and Oscar Wilde's The Picture of Dorian Grey. Don't judge me, they were a dollar each. Also on my near future is rereading Umberto Eco's Travels in Hyperreality and maiden voyages (thank you amazon.com) through Manuel DeLanda's A Thousand Years of Nonlinear History, Haruki Murakami's A Wild Sheep Chase and Kafka on the Shore and JT Leroy's The Heart is Deceitful Above All Things. Feel free to judge me on those.
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