Jog a mile, walk a mile, then dance in my kitchen because the music and the book mail is so good.

Yesterday evening, I cruised my shelves and picked up Tokarczuk, my first of hers. I’m falling in.

Joy Williams is warmer than Thomas Pynchon.

I think I found a book club to join. The first book I’m going to be reading with them is Nathalie Saurraute’s Tropisms. Solenoid is on tap for later this year.

Joy Williams, wow! What scope, what dialogue, what blitzes of humor that make the unbearable bearable.

Three recommendations from you guys (sort of — Williams’s The Quick and the Dead was missing from the library).

My skirmishes with bipolar are blessedly brief but debilitating; I’ll lose a day, here and there. It feels a little like possession. The next day, I’m kind of tapped. I’m on the other side of the Unnerving right now, in time to see my first daffodils trumpet up. Sprung.

I finally got rid of a large backlog of print New Yorkers, but had to subscribe to their digital version to feel better about it. Is there really a reason I’m so attached? A one-week free trial to find out.

Where did Robert Coover’s Ghost Town go? I’ve attained a level of disorder and book mass where I misplace books. This is advanced.

Just ordered Thomas Bernhard’s Gehen. Bibliotherapy, stage three.

First sprouts. Don’t knock my brocc and Brussels.

“This book is intended to make you a mountain…”

Matters are imploding. I hope to read again soon, but right now, I’ve got nothing.

Matters are imploding. I hope to read again soon, but right now, I’ve got nothing.

…sending her a formal invoice, of course. This will be fun.

I’m buying books on my to-read list every time my bf’s ex calls or texts. Will need a special bookshelf.

Reading slowly, concertedly, with pleasure, like standing in surf.

Proust and Novellas Some little reviews

This one’s a little different, less in-depth, more about a way to tackle the to-read list than anything.

Will There Ever Be Another You / Patricia Lockwood A little review

A recent interview with Patricia Lockwood circled so concertedly the idea of being mentally unstable. This was not my main takeaway from the book (written intimacy was). Now I’m wondering if I’m just so in touch with the insane parts of myself that this book seemed comprehensible, in that way.

A good day, I wrote about books, I hiked. Now there’s rain outside, a Fuzzy Navel, a good read, and the sound of my boyfriend making eggs Benedict for dinner. All I wish is for days similar, for a while longer.

Is there anything as primally satisfying as chancing upon a good story? Sure, you say, right, but plot and wit are the climaxes of mind.

Out early and found these two beauts at a free library. How could I resist?

In this installment of bibliomania: Grey Matter Books in Hadley, Mass, on the way back from fetching the previously marooned car. I read and enjoyed Outline, but I have not yet read Markson or Marias. Markson and Marias!

Reading in the car until I get sick and feeling smug about my color-coordinated bookmark and notebook.

The Tunnel by Gass: The dancing is evidence of the fire. Brilliant writing.

Getting pulled in. I apologize, Proust, but I have to check this out.

I am converting to Gasstianity.

I bought one.

I found it gripping! But yeah, I can see how it’s not for everyone…

Monsieur de Palancy and his monocle: “with his huge carp’s head and goggling eyes moved slowly through the festive gathering [with] the air of carrying about upon his person only an accidental and perhaps purely symbolical fragment of the glass wall of his aquarium…”