Finding, once again, that I couldn’t help myself, I was drawn over to the fiction area of the booksale once I finished picking over the children’s section (twice). And having found myself in the fiction section, I could not resist at least ten purchases, despite the fact my book pile had already become two book piles. Now it has become three.
I have finally picked up Cultural Amnesia and am loving it. I consider it to be a very important book and I am very grateful that someone has bothered to write it: even more so that the someone is Clive James. Rather erudite, it is sometimes a little too much effort at the end of the day, and so I am concurrently reading Rashamon, the Japanese short story book. Both of which I received for my birthday in May. So I’m only about three months behind.
Now if I could only get myself as interested in my study material, all would be well.
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