…and reading:-)

It has been,

really mild,

here,

this week,

lots of people are complaining,

it’s too cool,

probably the same ones who,

will be bitching about,

the heat and humidity,

soon,

whatever,

I’m enjoying the nice mild,

Spring

🙂

I have added,

reading,

to the sitting and thinking,

jiggie.

I am reading this marvelous book,

an oldie,

from the 1940’s,

McSorley’s Wonderful Saloon,

by Joseph Mitchell.

You may have heard of Mitchell,

one of his stories/portraits, Joe Gould’s Secret, was turned into a Stanley Tucci movie, a few years back.

but,

most likely,

you haven’t.

That is a shame,

because Mitchell,

is a writer who deserves to be read,

needs to be read.

A few weeks back,

I was reading something,

on wikipedia, maybe??

about legendary writers,

of The New Yorker,

I love the New Yorker, you all know this, old and new, E.B White, Adam Gopnick, love the New Yorker:-)

and,

Mitchell’s name came up.

I jotted it down,

along with,

a couple of book titles,

into the notebook,

I take with me to the library,

and,

on Sunday,

when I returned,

a couple of mysteries,

for mom,

and,

brought back,

Parnassus On Wheels and The Haunted Bookshop

which I re-read with great pleasure, destined to become, like 84 Charing Cross Road, an old friend.

I trolled the stacks,

to see,

if I couldn’t spot a,

Mitchell,

and,

that’s when I found,

McSorley’s Wonderful Saloon,

it contains portraits of truly,

original and interesting people,

oddballs,

bohemians,

bearded ladies,

kings of gypsies,

ale house operators,

in New York’s Bowery and Greenwhich Village,

from the early 20 th century,

to the years of World War II.

Mitchell has some unique gifts,

as a writer,

especially from a 21 st century perspective,

he doesn’t tell,

he shows,

you feel you are ‘listening’ to these people,

not being told about them,

clear, concise prose,

an ear for language and accent and vernacular,

but,

aside from these brilliant writer’s gifts,

letting you meet interesting people,

from a by gone era,

having you smell,

the sawdust and stale beer,

hearing the noise,

feeling the heat,

Mitchell,

does something,

even better,

has something,

even better

he doesn’t judge,

and,

he is,

without a doubt,

a stand up guy,

who people trust and talk to,

he doesn’t abuse that trust,

he honours it,

with beautiful portraits,

of people,

some,

good,

some,

a little shady,

some,

cooky,

none famous,

or looking to become it,

but,

all profoundly human,

and,

real.

A gifted writer,

and,

I feel certain,

after reading him,

a prince amongst men.

I intend to read,

much more of Mitchell’s work,

I,

hope you’ll look him up,

he deserves more readership,

and,

his brand of new journalism,

is so much more interesting,

than that pompous,

Tom Wolfe.

The New York,

Mitchell,

writes about no longer exists,

the people he writes about,

long gone,

but,

the great thing,

about books,

Maizie,

Johnny,

and,

Joe,

can be remembered,

any time,

all you have to do,

is open up,

the books,

and,

read.

Be well.

I’ll be around,

soon.

Taking a few days to spend,

with my girl

be still my heart, thump, thump

and then I’ll share my impressions,

of the Jack London novel,

I’ve been reading.

Thinking, sitting, reading,

good Spring,

so far.

Later girls,

BB

Published by

Bookish Butch

I am a bookish butch in my very early fifties. I live in Montréal and always have. I used to run a small used bookstore. Reading keeps me sane. My latest jiggie is photography, book project in the works, living the dream

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