Jod had asked Theta the Cuttlefish to bring me to Thessalonica the latest Saturday Guardian from England, he did not fail to deliver. The reason is that only the abridged European edition reaches here, lacking the Weekend and the Review… Of course, this was the 9th of April copy, so there was a lot about the late Pope’s funeral. Still, perusing the Review over my afternoon coffee, this is what I found of interest: an article on Saul Bellow (whose ‘Herzog’ I have been reading for a month or so), on Black Death, on three new books on anarchism, on a biography of Virginia Woolf, on Chernobyl Strawberries (plus an ad of Orhan Pamuk’s latest: ‘Snow’), aliens, François Truffaut, the Jungle Book, Patrick Leigh Fermor, “Buttocks with everything”, book reviews, Biff and Doonesbury — and much much more.
I prefer the Saturday Guardian to behemoths like Harper’s, or even the grumpy intellectual insomnia of New Yorker: it is wittier, more succinct and more to the point, with fewer descriptions. For instance, I was reading on New Yorker online an endless and meandering piece on some Ukrainian mathematician brothers and their doing some photoshopping on a bunch of unicorn tapestries (not those in Paris) — I almost fainted one third of the way down and gave up.
Abnormally chunky specks of dust floating in the air outside. Are we actually breathing this?