Some theatre each day keeps the doctor away…


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One of the differences between The Hunger Games and Sense and Sensibility (and there are quite a few, as you might imagine), is that with The Hunger Games, I want to get to the end as quickly as possible.  Indeed, with books such as The Hunger Games, the only thing that stops me skipping to the end is that I wouldn’t understand it without what has come before.  With Sense and Sensibility, however, even though I want to know what happens at the end, I’m also perfectly happy to consume one chapter and then let it sit for a bit.  Let it percolate in the mind.  Not that I’m doing any conscious meditations on what I’ve just read, but what I do read is more potent, in a way.

Something like that.

I had a desire, just then, to pluck Paradise lost off the shelf and delve into it for a couple of minutes.  I didn’t.  Thought you should know, dear reader.

And now, ten minutes or so later, I’m feeling guilty for not doing it.  Sigh.  It’s still there.  Right above my head.  (I have some bookshelves high above my bed.)


I bet Shakespeare never used the word ‘percolate’.  He hadn’t lived, clearly.

I imagine that if I ever need to write about a wife waiting for news of her husband in a war – or something similar – then this waiting to hear from NIDA has given me all the training I need for it.


Written by epistemysics

December 2, 2013 at 1:58 pm

Posted in Uncategorized

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