Picked up a book at a yard sale Saturday, In My Father's Court by Isaac Bashevis Singer, on account of never having read any Singer. Owner's name is scrawled illegibly on the flyleaf. Owner's name is... I.B. Singer. Well well well. Go me with the signed copy.
Strange world, that of the Polish Hasidim. Feels far more foreign than, say, Qing China, if Red Chambers and Shen Fu are anything to judge by. But then, maybe it's only Singer's vision itself that registers as magic realism. For sure, this memoir feels more MR than Robertson Davies' What's Bred in the Bone, the latter's angels and daimons notwithstanding. In fact, the presence of defined angels and daimons makes it *not* MR in my books; the fantastic ought to be inherent in the mundane, not a separate identifiable fantastic element.
Seven years ago last week I received eight boxes of manga, which I predicted would keep me reading for five years. Longer, so much longer, and neither near finished nor desiring to be. So many ignorable mangaka, oh my. But there have been highpoints, which I now list to have them listed:
Karin- Oct '03
Yakumo Tatsu- Feb '04
Ao no Jidai- July '04; nowhere near as good as Hi Izuru, alas
London Mamougai and Kitan Club- July '04; weird JET during a wet summer
Masked Detective Taro Suzuki- summer '05
Genjuu no Seiza-- which I had to buy the rest of after the first 4 vols-- '05 to '07
Daisan no Teikoku- Sept '07
Komahoshi-- Sept '09
And of course many more that I bounced off of, including much of the Belne I requested back then, most Akai Toreno, and anything by Nishi Keiko. But I mention this because I've ust started on another series, Yume no Kodomo, and we shall see how far I get with it. Never did finish Komahoshi or Yakumo, but that's because I was misisng a bunch of Yakumo volumes.