July 17th, 2021

hasui: winter moon

(no subject)

I'm reading Herodotus and Don Quixote. Herodotus is much more fun. That copy I picked up the other week is a revised translation with up to date footnotes (mostly to works I have no way or intention of acquiring) and chatty old Herodotus is just as amusing as he was fifty years ago. Don Quixote-- oh dear. Am two hundred pages into a 1000 page translation and it's all 'DQ meets someone/thing on the road, thinks it/they are giants/ monsters/ other knights, attacks and gets his ribs broken/ teeth knocked out/ some other damage, Sancho Panza gets it worse, hahaha isn't this amusing? over and over and over and over. Eight hundred more pages of this. And this is the height of Spanish literature.

I mean, if you put a gun to my head and forced me to read either this or Proust, I'd probably read this, because something new *might* come up, whereas Proust will just be Marcel eaten with ridiculous jealousy for a thousand pages, and I really can't stand that. Been there done that through all of Budding Grove and half of The Captive and no thank you very much.

But anyway, both those are on hold because the library book that came in yesterday isn't Dick Francis, it's The Library of the Dead, with twenty other people waiting to read my copy so I must get on with it. Am amused to see the cover blurb is from Incandescens. How you know that you've arrived: you're on the front cover and Ben Aaronovitch is on the back.