Some theatre each day keeps the doctor away…

Mariage Blanc

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Saw Mariage Blanc tonight at the STC.  Good.  Weird, too, which makes for a nice change.  If a play’s not going to be a masterpiece, then at least make sure it’s something no one’s ever seen before.  ‘Weird’ has its own benefits.

Read The Sense of an Ending by Julian Barnes today.  What a perfect but completely useless book it is!  Barnes, on the basis of this, is a master but not a genius.

Why is it that I can read a long poem, such as Shakespeare’s Venus and Adonis, and be satisfied with it, but if I read a short novel, I find it invariably unsatisfying?  (Or rather, not as fulfilling as I think a novel should be?)  But no, I didn’t really find it unsatisfying, I think; more I just found it small, and with my focus on taking books with me to my desert island, small just will not do.  (Besides which, if I ever got tired of reading said small book, it wouldn’t be much fuel to burn either.)

I also felt – preoccupied with author’s creating their own ‘worlds’ as I have been the last few days – that Barnes didn’t create a world in any satisfying way.  Or that the world he created was so similar to our own that it wasn’t interesting.  But I don’t wish to focus on that, because my thoughts on the matter are vaporous at best.

I’m reading Clarissa now, and am somewhat sad (and also excited, obviously) at the prospect of finishing it, because it’s the longest novel I’m going to read.  Longest novel in a single volume, anyway.  War and Peace will be a brushover compared to Clarissa.  Indeed, everything will seem small once I’ve finished it, I suspect.

58/1499, though that’s deceptive, because the novel starts proper at 35/1499.  Letter 7, I’m up to, Letter 7/537.


Written by epistemysics

December 5, 2012 at 2:05 pm

Posted in Uncategorized

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