Reading, 1.

Writing reviews for my LibraryThing account has become a new sort of exercise for me. There is this struggle between how much I read and how much of that reading turns into something else, like a new link in my knowledge or a review or renewed vigor working toward a goal. It is difficult to know how to approach the desire and ability to read too much and temper it without abandoning it entirely. To that end, I have found that some requirements help. I concoct reading lists and goals and use them to gauge what I’m doing and how much of it I’m doing and then once I’ve pondered the goal I’ve reached, I make a new one that is modified and so on. It is in that relatively constant pendulum swing of thought and planning and action and result that I begin to find that my life looks like something that is more like what I believe a well-lived life is.

It is aware, involved, compassionate, decisive, disciplined, gentle, quiet, joyful and not without absurdity. I believe that moderation is a good touchstone, even when it is for itself. I believe that the best way to learn a thing is to do it, and there is no reason that a book cannot be as instructive as any other method of learning, provided that the learner take the time to give air to the words of his or her instructor as they cannot do it for themselves from within the pages of a closed or silently chewed over text.

As I considered the words I chose for my review of Journey to Portugal by Jose Saramago, it occurred to me that more than just a desire to travel to that country myself was kindled. Saramago is so infuriatingly specific with his words, particularly his terminology and architectural awareness that it almost drove me to despair. I read the book slowly, though, over a period of time that was longer in events that chronology.

The first time I read the book, I did not finish it. This had more to do with my health at the time than anything else.

By the time I got around to reading it again, I had a road map of Portugal from the 1980’s pinned to my wall and worked very hard to trace his route. My notes from the first part of that reading are just incredible, they are lists of place names and monuments and styles of architecture. I am deeply happy with them.

The third time I picked up the book, I finished it in a profound amazement.

My sense of distance from his specificity was countered very strongly by my sense of the richness of his experience and I began to ask some questions about my own experiences in the world.

Good, long morning

The phenomenon of all three of us being up and relatively active before 10 on a Saturday morning has me smiling and wanting to hide in my room to read and write and make lists and pray and ponder and plan.

The kittens are being very adorable and running all about like the small bundles of barely confined energy that they are. The constant distractions of little grown-ups. And Anne moved the microwave.

Caved in and checked out yet another book before leaving work yesterday. I am reading through our collection of Jose Saramago. The libraries have only the novels that have been translated into English. I am pleased that there are about 10 of them, but am discovering that I would rather read them in the Portuguese. The story isn't hampered by the translation, at least it reads clearly and well, but the language is so specific that I wonder how much of the poetry is lost. I suspect that my feeling is mostly inspired by my desire to learn another language. The motivation to travel frequently brings this need or desire to the fore of my thinking.

Today is a good day. I am glad to be in it.

Beautiful little story

In the midst of my recovery from The Book, I found a little small book by Jose Saramago and fell in love with it as I knelt in the aisle between the shelves not concerned with the other patrons, not feeling the need to take the little book out of the library with me, but feeling the need to finish the lovely tale before my dishy lunch with Andy.

The Tale of the Unknown Island.

It starts with a man petitioning the king for a boat.

Writing that could break through the fog that I'd walked in for two days, the beauty of it was stunning. It's a fairly quick read. A nice stop on the way to whatever else sucks.