One must consider the possibility that one does not recover from international flights with the quickness that one did a number of years ago. It is no coincidence that my Currently Reading list, typically containing six substantial volumes, now features a single P. G. Wodehouse novel.* I’m back but I’m beat. Ambitious, or even ordinary, writing will have to wait. A further complication is a jolly family event, for which I leave tomorrow. Next Tuesday, that is when I will return in force, or so I hope.
France is, by the way, still nice. Lyons is nice, Avignon is nice, Burgundy is tres tres jolie. If I were writing the early modern book blog that I wish someone else would write, Quixote Furioso or whatever it is called, I would concoct lengthy posts about the Duchy of Burgundy and the great Memoirs of Philippe de Commynes (1489+), and the French capture of the papacy, and the works of the 16th century Lyonnais poet Maurice Scève, and many other fascinating subjects. But I do not write that blog.
On this one, I would like to demonstrate the results of my research at the Victor Hugo house in Paris, and to study a statue of the delightfully granny-like Auxerre poet Marie Noël, but that would involve sorting and cleaning my photos, which is exhausting. Or I could, it seems, plunder French Wikipedia. In their photo, you can see the dog, but the rabbit and snail are hidden. C’est tres chouette, non?
I see that many other book bloggers are reading novellas, or close relatives thereof. Perhaps I should read one as well. I am afraid, though, that I will be too busy, once my joie de vivre returns, assembling my 19th century Danish paper theater as provided by 50 Watts.
Tuesday, that’s the revised goal.
* Update: As was inevitable, or at least likely, Right Ho, Jeeves has been completed. Onward.