Sunday evening. The Emmys are around, and so many times J. said about watching The Americans but we didn’t, and what if it wins? So we hurry to watch its first episode and it’s not so good —almost quite bad, or worse —quite average.
And the Emmys… are you kidding me, Emmys? The almost insufferable season six of Game of Thrones takes it all? Come off it!
Monday morning. Three fourths into My Brilliant Friend by the ghostly Elena Ferrante and she tries but she doesn’t reach. Elena, if you want to succeed at depicting an irresistible power one person unwillingly, or not, have over another, just go and read the masterpiece —Maugham’s Of Human Bondage.
Speaking about ghosts, I have a feeling that a movie I saw a few months ago is better than the credit I gave it then —you know that when it comes back to you, unexpectedly: The Awakening.
The last six fiction books I’ve read, I’ve dropped them. Don’t think they’re bad —in fact, I think they might be good. In case you’re curious, here they are:
- BEHIND THE BEAUTIFUL FOREVERS, by Katherine Boo
- THE CUCKOO’S CALLING, by Robert Galbraith (aka J.K Rowling)
- THE CRIMSON PETAL AND THE WHITE, by Michel Faber
- MAÑANA EN LA BATALLA PIENSA EN MI, by Javier Marías
- CONFESSIONS, by Kanae Minato
- I, ETCETERA by Susan Sontag
All of them are widely acclaimed, but not my cup of tea —I’m afraid.
by Michel Faber.
A good novel, original (the aliens are us; a self-sustained, self-regulating, hierarchy-free society of engineers) and well-thought, revolving around the themes of both the limits of faith and the strains of separation, or the impossibility of giving credit to any other reality than that we’re actually living in. I’ll read more from Faber.
How it is, the way folks feel, he don’t stand no chance. They’ll hang them both. And, he added, fatigue and defeat glazing his eyes, “having your boy hang, knowing he will, nothing worse can happen to a man.”
Truman Capote, In Cold Blood.