200 Books

Love in the Time of Cholera Page:319

I’m finding myself less emotional and more at peace with life as the days go on. I still long for more and uninterrupted sleep and I would love to have a little more time off with Jared. But on the whole life is achieving a sort of even keel and contentment is gradually becoming mine. Gradually the specter of Post Partum Depression is receding. One nice development has been Jared becoming more confident of being able to care for the boys on his own. This means that in the last three days I’ve actually worked at Veritas by myself twice. Sunday afternoon was restful because of the chance to be alone with my thoughts for awhile and this evening has worked out the same way. Of course tonight Jared kept sending me messages with pictures of him and Alex playing in the park so I’m continually being reminded of how much I miss all three of them.

Marquez’s book is proving quite the contrast to Austen. Austen is probably the least physical writer imaginable. Her characters bodies are described in the most limited way and with generalities, while their minds are frequently, explicitly and meticulously demonstrated. Marquez is almost grossly physical. His prose is lovely, so lovely that it sometimes takes a moment to distinguish the repulsiveness of the scene he is describing. Gross sexuality is fairly graphically detailed and the disgusting city his characters inhabit minutely portrayed. I cannot imagine having to live in the midst of so much dirt and dirtiness but somehow he manages to describe it affectionately. I’m thinking about the issues of sexuality in the book and may provide a thoughtful review tomorrow…or I might forget all the deep thoughts I had today and all the input Brent provided and just post fluff…ahh the vicissitudes of life!

Now I have more books I want to read but can’t until next year! I want to read this one which is apparently about a made up territory that was sold by a con artist to unsuspecting settlers.

This entry was posted on Tuesday, February 26th, 2008 at 9:15 pm and is filed under Alexander Douglas, Books as Objects, Fiction, Husbands are Very Important. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.