Wiring, Mark Twain, Sam Stosur

[poliphilo]

Peter was here yesterday measuring up windows and consulting with us about plug sockets. This morning the electrician he'd engaged finally put in an appearance and gave the house a thorough testing. He says our wiring is fine- which is good news- and that the faulty sockets in the front room are probably down to a loose connection under the laminate flooring- which isn't. The day when the builders arrive and start tearing the place apart draws nearer; I try not to think about it.

Judy and I have been talking about Mark Twain- and to remind myself what all the fuss is about I've been reading Pudd'nhead Wilson. It's an unholy mess- carelessly thrown together,  with odd things in it that just about justify it being reprinted as a "classic". Twain was a sour individual. If he'd been born in a later generation he'd have been doing stand-up- and giving Richard Pryor and Bill Hicks a run for their money. I don't think I like him.

Sam Stosur is the stand-out figure of this year's French Open. She was off the circuit for a year with lyme disease- and it's as if they've rebuilt her and she's come back stronger than ever. She used to be a doubles specialist, now she's knocking seven bells out of the best singles players. I'd be talking about it as a changing of the guard if she wasn't herself a veteran.

Comments

[michaleen.livejournal.com]

As for Poe, I was reading him as soon as I could read at that level. Here is his room at the University of Virginia:

Edgar Allen Poe's Range Room

I'm thinking I first peered through that glass in '76 or so and have paused and paid my respects scores of times since.

I have difficulty seeing Poe as the quintessential American writer. He was like a shooting star in the American literary firmament, but where a civilized man might see a dazzling brilliance the primitive mind of a New England Puritan saw only a dread omen of God's displeasure. Whatever essence he carried came and went with poor Edgar.

The man lay in an unmarked grave for twenty-six years after his death, in Baltimore, Maryland, and when a headstone was at last set up it was organized and funded by a committee of school teachers. Not one literary light contributed to the fund and when the unveiling arrived only Walt Whitman bothered to show up.

[poliphilo.livejournal.com]

That looks just like my university room- barring the period furniture, of course.

It was the French who elevated Poe, starting with Baudelaire- who translated him. I've read that Baudelaire's versions are better than the originals.