Haunted
I started reading Danielewski's House of Leaves this weekend. It's one of about 6 books that have been sitting in a stack on my fireplace mantle for about 2 months now (the backlog started as I spent several months on Umberto Eco's Foucault's Pendulum).
When I bought the book earlier this summer, I was pleasantly surprised to see that the bookstore had an autographed copy. What I didn't know until about a half hour ago was that Poe, the musician — Danielewski's sister — autographed it as well.
One of my close friends, a huge Poe fan, is insanely jealous.
If you've read or even flipped through the book, you'll understand why an autograph buried halfway through it would be that difficult to notice right away. Just when a person is worried that post-modernism is dying, a novel like this one comes around. It's been a great read for the first 40 pages or so, so far.
I've fallen into this habit, on Sunday nights, of dragging out the weekend to it's furthest possible moment — squeezing in as much playing, reading, hanging with friends, etc, as I can until the last possible hour on Sunday night, until Monday comes as a total shock to my system.
I didn't used to do this.
I think it reflects on my job lately, or something. I can't quite qualify it. Regardless, I've done as much reading as I can stand to do tonight, so bedtime isn't far away. We'll see how this week stands, in the big scheme of things. . . .
When I bought the book earlier this summer, I was pleasantly surprised to see that the bookstore had an autographed copy. What I didn't know until about a half hour ago was that Poe, the musician — Danielewski's sister — autographed it as well.
One of my close friends, a huge Poe fan, is insanely jealous.
If you've read or even flipped through the book, you'll understand why an autograph buried halfway through it would be that difficult to notice right away. Just when a person is worried that post-modernism is dying, a novel like this one comes around. It's been a great read for the first 40 pages or so, so far.
I've fallen into this habit, on Sunday nights, of dragging out the weekend to it's furthest possible moment — squeezing in as much playing, reading, hanging with friends, etc, as I can until the last possible hour on Sunday night, until Monday comes as a total shock to my system.
I didn't used to do this.
I think it reflects on my job lately, or something. I can't quite qualify it. Regardless, I've done as much reading as I can stand to do tonight, so bedtime isn't far away. We'll see how this week stands, in the big scheme of things. . . .