Musings on city writers

The weather today,

was windy and brisk,

a nice April day.

I went to the library,

brought back,

those Jane Rules,

she’s a good writer,

but,

right now,

her stuff,

just isn’t,

speaking to me.

I made it through most,

of the,

Chatwin biography,

interesting man,

an original,

free thinker,

but,

I think I should,

read his novels,

I like novels.

I just don’t enjoy,

biography and non-fiction,

like I used to.

In all readers lives,

there are phases,

perhaps my,

biography phase,

has come and gone,

well,

for the,

foreseeable future,

anyway.

I finished Cakes and Ale,

I loved it,

again,

Maugham,

is one of the few authors,

I can read more,

than once,

and enjoy,

of course,

there is John Irving,

but,

he’s special to me,

kind of like,

hockey,

and cats:-)

In January,

I read a novel by,

Bernard Malamud,

The Tenants,

it was one of those,

bottom of the box books,

I was surprised at how much,

I liked it.

So, on Saturday,

once it started,

hailing!!

and,

business dried up,

so to speak,

I discovered another,

Malamud on my shelves,

The Associate,

again a  novel,

about a tortured,

poor,

Jewish man,

in Brooklyn.

I started it,

then and there.

I have a thing,

for Brooklyn,

I always,

have,

don’t ask,

I don’t know.

I also have a thing,

for New York writers,

I love the hope and yearning,

buried under cynicism,

you have to dig for it,

but,

it’s there.

City people appear,

more jaded,

harder,

they aren’t,

they are just a little,

more cautious,

which they hide,

under bluster,

they want just,

as much,

but,

perhaps,

they expect less.

Probably,

a result,

of lack of,

fresh air,

green space,

quiet,

real quiet.

Never really,

quiet,

in the city,

never completely,

dark either,

light polution,

noise polution,

air polution,

makes all us,

city folk,

a little crazy:-)

Now,

New York,

that’s a special,

case,

the model,

of such,

conditions,

to me New York,

has always been,

the microcosm,

of American society,

everything,

that’s good about it,

and,

everything rotten,

as well.

To me they are,

THE,

North American city.

As a Quebecer,

a Montrealer,

I am a North American,

of a different stripe,

I live in a French city,

on an English,

mostly American,

continent,

a weird combination,

strangely enough,

these writers,

the,

Baldwins,

the,

Shulmans,

help me give texture,

to my experience.

I like their hard,

intellectual shell,

I like their,

mal de vivre,

their,

want of a better world,

in spite of the dirt,

and,

grime,

their hope,

for a better,

society,

in spite of,

constant examples,

of the failures,

of society’s experiments,

their movement,

their imobility.

I find hope,

in their hopelessness…

This probably makes no sense.

I’ll have to think on it,

some more.

Meantime,

I’ll be reading Malamud.

Later girls,

BB