If Blake is right and “without contraries is no progression,” I should make a real breakthrough soon. Or something…
Another week, another book not finished. This one , though, I am close to breaking one of strongest rules and simply leaving behind. Wiley Cash’s A Land More Kind Than Home simply does not move me in any significant way – I keep picking it up and putting it down. Snake handling fundamentalists and un-Christian preachers acting badly simply do not hold my interest. Seen too many of them in real life to give a shit, frankly.
The other book I’ve been piddling with is called The Sacred Fire: The Story of Sex in Religion by Professor B.Z. Goldberg. Allow me to say two things about Professor Goldberg’s work. First, it is a splendid example of academic writing and fuel for the Center for Plain Writing’s crusade against unnecessary obtuseness. It is also proof that it is possible to make the subject of sex into a soporific. I am perhaps a little unkind to the professor. His work is well researched and scholarly. As a piece of reading it’s the equivalent of watching paint dry.So there’s no book to write about.
I could, I suppose, post some sort of rebuttal to this piece of nonsense from Slate in which the author rails against subtlety in literature. But the idea of engaging with such an obvious bait dangler holds no charms for me. Exempli gratia: I love Hemingway. I love Dickens. Arguing that the former is overly subtle is like arguing that the latter is overly cartoonish. Such remonstrances make absolutely no difference to anyone except the person showing off his reading. Since that person is not me in this case, vade in pace.
Meantime, I have written perhaps 100 words on the book I hope to complete by the end of the year. At this rate, I should complete the book by the end of, oh, 2020. I am going to have to do better.
So. I will write more and read differently than I have in the last couple of weeks. And I shall have more and better things to say next time.