finished dubliners.
of all my summer reads, it felt dearest to my heart. but i still continue to struggle with this columbia-bred mechanical approach to reading: this rushing, this soaking this digest later, to distilling, this analyzing extra-textually. grrr! especially with james joyce! who attempts to draw his reader into the moment by focusing on the most intimate, the most inconsiquential, and by being so playful with his language/sound (though not as much in dubliners). i was hoping that a summer of leisurely reading would erase my reading-routine, but alas!
and i move on: the grapes of wrath (oh how i love thee, steinbeck).
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