Saturday, November 29, 2025

RIP …

Tom Stoppard, playwright of dazzling wit and playful erudition, dies aged 88 (Hat tip, Daxe Lull))

Solvej Balle

 


I'd read and seen more recently about the Danish author Solvej Balle, and so decided to take on the first installment of her extended series, On the Calculation of Volume

The premise of the novel is key: a woman falls out of time and begins to relive the same day -- for what amounts, in total, to a year. She cannot understand how or why this has happens, and those around her cannot help: for they remain in time, and experience that specific day -- the eighteenth of November -- as if it were their first and only time living it. The result, as Balle writes, in a situation in which the primary character, Tara Selter, becomes overwhelmed with an abundance of memories -- but of the same singular day. Everyone else, however, experiences the inverse: they have no memory of a day which they have yet to live: they are, in a sense, free. 

For me, On the Calculation of Volume read as an exercise in existentialism. At its core -- in my reading, at least -- this was very much a novel about the need for action: that is, without action, with the decision to act, there can be no life, no meaning. If Tara Selter is stuck in the eighteenth of November that must be because, on some level, she has not willed herself to seek the next day, to act in such a way that warrants that day, that continuation.

Toward the end of the book, Balle insinuates that Selter may be able to "make room" for the next day: that is, she may be able to let the eighteenth of November wash over her, once and for all, and thus conclude that she has acted in such a way that requires more room, more time. Again, for me, this was an effective rendering of the existential dilemma around repetition and nothingness. For Tara Selter to liberate herself from the banality of a single day requires that she take action, that she think her way into something new. That point, at least, is well made. 

Ultimately, Solvej Balle succeeds in casting this complex journey -- from nothingness, to thought, to action -- as an odd celebration: of the small wonders, of the beauty in repetition, and of the fading human capacity for patience and appreciation. 

A poem for this morning …

Lisa Russ Spaar — The Geese

Tuesday, November 25, 2025

Tracking the decline…

Don’t Be Fooled: Notre Dame’s About-Face Isn’t a Return to Faith

Remembering one of the true greats …

I've got you under my skin – Nicky Haslam on Cole Porter {Hat tip. Dave Lull)

These days …

I woke up this morning after having a wonderful dream that immediately turned sour. In the dream I was having a great time shopping for clothes at Joseph A.Bank, which had been my favotite clothing store. Immediately upon waking I realized those days were forever past. You don't go shopping for elegant new clothes while using a walker, as I must these days. No, now is the time for remembering and reflecting. At least I can still do that.

A poem for this morning …

Charles Wright — Roma 1

Sunday, November 23, 2025

Anita Loos


Gentlemen Prefer Blondes -- Anita Loos's celebrated novel of the inter-war years -- is one of those books I'd been aware of for a long time, but had never read. Last week, I rectified that. I'll say at the start that, despite the accolades, this is not a novel on par with the work of either Fitzgerald, neither Scott nor Zelda. It's a book, certainly, that explores similar themes and geographies, but it does so in a far different fashion: Gentlemen Prefer Blondes is effectively a comedy -- almost, for me, in the vein of Three Men in a Boat or Diary of a Nobody. There's a predictability to these novels: which doesn't make them any less funny, but they function based on an implicit understanding of what comes next. Gentlemen Prefer Blondes was very much like that: there was almost a gimmicky quality to the whole thing. That said, despite the humor, Anita Loos does uncover a seriousness: about wealth and femininity, about education and accomplishment. The trouble, for me, was that each time one of those themes is probed, they seem almost to be invalidated by a joke or another dalliance. And I understand that is part of the way this novel operates. But I didn't take away much here: Lorelei Lee remains something of an enigma, despite her creed that "everything always turns out of the best." I suppose it does in Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, but there might have been other ways to present the roots of that optimism. 

 

Tuesday, November 18, 2025

Stefan Zweig

 


It had been many years since I last encountered a book by Stefan Zweig, but over the past month, I've read and finished perhaps his most acclaimed novel, Beware of Pity. Let me say at the start, this book is a triumph: it's everything I'd associated with Zweig -- and more. Published in 1939, the novel focuses on the relationship between a crippled young woman of aristocratic stock and an Austrian military officer, only slightly her senior. The complexity of that relationship allows Zweig to explore a range of themes, including love, patriotism, and wealth. But there's more than that: Zweig is also attuned to matters of identity, psychology, and control. In some sense, Beware of Pity is very much a reflection of its time: Zweig and Freud maintained a relationship for many years, and the influence of Freud on Zweig's characters and their motivations is clear. Then, too, there's the First World War, which comes crashing like a wave at the end of the novel, and serves, in some sense, to liberate Zweig's primary character, Anton Hofmiller, of his guilt, his lingering pity: in effect, nothing so small as actions in defense or rejection of love could escape the slaughter of the war. But then, Zweig offers a caveat: guilt, he writes, is never truly forgotten so long as the 'conscience' is still aware. Beware of Pity is wonderfully written, perfectly ordered, and evocative, in its characters, scenes, and scenery, of the fading days of the Austro-Hungarian empire. This is a paean to a lost time, and also, in many ways, to a lost love. 

A poem for this morning …

Lewis Warsh — Drops

Sunday, November 02, 2025

Blogging note …

I continue to languish in rehab. i may blog more later today. Right now I am in a mood to ponder, not write. i stare out the window at the trees, wonderfully graced with dazzling sunlight. May everyone have a blessed day.