Yesterday’s great men are today’s embarrassments.
Seven short book reviews: fiction, science fiction, mysteries, memoirs, banned.
Got up at 5 AM to spray a wasp nest under the eaves over our breezeway, something you definitely don’t want to do when they’re awake and alert.
But those who ban and burn books aren’t just know-nothings. A whopping proportion of their anti-intellectualism is composed of resentment and spite.
I want to tell myself we’re going to crush Trump and the fascist Republicans who’ve hitched their wagons to him in November, but fuck me, I didn’t think he had a chance in 2016 either and look how that worked out.
I don’t know if Trump will resign (even if he’s impeached, he certainly won’t be convicted, so giving up à la Nixon is the best we can hope for), but if he does we’ll have Pence, and if Pence has his way we’ll have Gilead. Atwood is a timely read, to say the least.
I don’t know if young people still read it today, but Anne Frank’s Diary was a profoundly moving and unforgettable experience for members of my generation, children born just after the end of World War II. You know my opinion of those who try to ban books or otherwise prevent the rest of us from reading them. Those who continue to suppress Anne Frank’s Diary are not merely book banners but anti-Semites as well, Holocaust deniers and neo-Nazis, and there’s a special place in hell reserved for them.
These are the best mornings. Up early, walking through the neighborhood while it’s still cool, policing the back yard for dog poop, coffee and a hot muffin for breakfast, a devoted dog by my side, the rest of the morning mine to write, read, or whatever I want to do.