Well, something has infected the house, anyway.
Hubs and I have both been fighting off some unpleasant illness. He’s made it to work, which is more than I’ve managed. I’ve barely edited anything over the past couple days.
Nothing interesting to report, therefore, except a warning.
Henry Miller was not an admirable man, even if he did have an innate writing talent that could occasionally turn a pretty phrase. Tropic of Cancer was nearly completely unreadable. It wasn’t so much the coarse misogyny, although that was vile, or the rough language, which I can generally tolerate. No, he was just a miserable bastard and his worldview sucked. If you’re tempted to read it because it’s a banned book and (theoretically) erotica . .. oh please skip it. It’s not erotic in the least. You’ve never read such joyless sex. Uck, uck, uck.
I wish I had skipped reading it. Darn my stupid reading list, anyway.