yellow-green leaves like a Tiffany window
Reading a prize-winning first novel, The First Verse, by Irish writer Barry McCrea, and disappointingly unbeguiled by it, although it's rich and surprising. But just read Diary of a Bad Year by J M Coetzee, a spare, dry semi-fiction, with great pleasure. Changing tastes are interesting, but also alarming and undermining because I've always, in the absence of successful relationships with real people, found self-reflection, validation in novels, films and music.
2 comments:
My tastes have changed, too, in disconcerting ways that I find more interesting than wondrous. In fact, I'm stuck in the middle of a book by a favorite author that is becoming painful to continue plowing through, and yet I can't seem to stop reading it, if only because I know somewhere, once upon a time, I might have loved these pages.
I have found that even my favorite authors reach a point where their best stuff is behind them. I still buy their books, and struggle through them. But don't reread.
Tastes change too.
FA
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