Last Day of the Month! Summer is whizzing by, and I can only hope we have an Indian summer later. This has been a cool and overcast weekend morning and evening, and it is hard to think summer, much less act like it. We went to warmer climes yesterday to walk the dogs, but even there it was coolish, and we had jackets and wore jeans and shoes and socks. The rest of the nation is frying, but we are defying the calendar. I refuse to buy sandals, even on sale, because I just don't get to wear them enough around here. I can't be tricked any more.
I'm reading a book about Henry James' years in Paris. The author sees a strong influence of Flaubert on James. It's fun being reminded of my James blowout. When I was living in Fiji I had one library where I could check out books. There were no bookstores in those days. So, though I might have settled for something more mundane, I ended up, out of desperation, reading all of Henry James works and also those of Dickens. I adored both writers, and Maisie and Hyacinth and other characters were embedded for life. I learned a lot about myself and my world through these ancients. I must say, perhaps Dickens is my favorite author to this day, though my favorite book is by another writer. But James, convoluted, mysterious, and overbearing as he is, writes so beautifully, and with such psychological acuity, that he is a delight. He's humorous, but for wit and cleverness Dickens is the best. And Dickens always tears the heart, in a way that James does not. It stays cerebral with James.
Maybe I'll reread James when I finish this book. I think I'd begin with Princess Cassimassima, and go from there.
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