Books I read, and desks I saw, in July - hoping he might tell me, / tell me what the waves don't know

Right, July, July, so long ago.  I was on the road a little bit, making literary pilgrimages.  Pittsfield, Massachusetts, for example, to Herman Melville’s Arrowhead:

On this spot, not at this exact desk but in front of this exact window, Herman Melville wrote Moby-Dick, Pierre, Israel Potter, The Piazza Tales, and The Confidence Man.  He wrote “Bartleby, the Scrivener,” a story about a man with a window view of a blank brick wall, in front of this view.

Near Ithaca, New York, I crossed paths with Vladimir Nabokov and A. R. Ammons and many other great writers, looking at waterfalls they also looked at, although Nabokov would have spent more time up on the rim looking for butterflies.

And finally, back in Massachusetts to the Emily Dickinson house in Amherst:

On this spot, although not at this exact etc. (see above), Emily Dickinson wrote most of what she wrote.  I had not known that for almost her entire writing life – a pretty big chunk of her entire life – she went everywhere with a Newfoundland named Carlo, after a “minor dog in Jane Eyre,” to quote one of the many superb guides.  I guess I knew Carlo existed, but I did not understand that Dickinson’s dog was a Newfoundland, gigantic, shaggy, weighing more than her.  Imagine here at the little desk, writing whichever masterpiece you have in mind, while shoving a giant dog head out of her lap.  Changed my whole idea of the Dickinson enterprise.  And she did all that writing while sitting on a pine cone!

The guides – at times literally one per room – were devoted and full of interest.  “When Sir Andrew Motion visited, his first question was” – no, you will have to visit the house to learn Motion’s first question (it was – of course! – about Carlo).

I also read some books.

FICTION

The Road (1934-63), Vasily Grossman – a curious hybrid book, Grossman’s stories, plus “The Hell of Treblinka,” mixed among what amounts to a valuable little biography by Robert Chandler.

Mildred Pierce (1941), James M. Cain – about a woman who creates a successful fried chicken restaurant, one American art form about the greatest American art form.  I had not seen the movie, or for that matter read the book before, and had no idea that it would be perhaps the most purely melodramatic novel I have ever read.

Midaq Alley (1947), Nahguib Mahfouz – a classic “neighborhood” novel, a look in on the various residents of one Cairo block, sociologically interesting and full of good gossip.  The way we live now, for a specific we and now.  I read the book slowly, since there seemed to be no hurry, until the three-quarter mark when the story of one cluster of characters took a melodramatic turn and pushed me quickly to the end.

Ship Fever (1996), Andrea Barrett – High quality stories full of flattering, educational science.

American Desert (2004), Percival Everett – Maybe at some point I will piece together some thoughts about Everett.  I’ve read five of his books now and am beginning to imagine that I have thoughts.

Paul Celan and the Trans-Tibetan Angel (2020), Yoko Tawada – what a title.  The novella, written in German, translated by Susan Bernofsky, is crammed with quotations and words from Celan’s poems.  Who knows what I might have missed, or seen.

POETRY

The Pages of Day and Night (1950-83) &

Mihyar of Damascus, His Songs (1961), Adonis – a selected poems and then a jump back to the breakthrough book, where Adonis creates the “Mihyar” persona, a mystical version of himself that pushes past his skepticism, allowing for a more original poetic voice, free from the endless, rich, but possibly stifling conventions of classical Arabic poetry.  The quotation in the title is from “I Search for Odysseus” (p. 24-5, tr. Adnan Haydar and Michael Beard).

Breathturn (1967), Paul Celan – After reading the Towada novel, and I at least took another look, at the Pierre Joris translation this time, which Bernofsky uses.

ANIMALS

The Soul of an Octopus (2015), Sy Montgomery – long time since I read a book about animals.  This one is also about people, with a local angle, the, what are they, fishkeepers and volunteers at the New England Aquarium in Boston, a place I should obviously go.

IN PORTUGUESE

Poesia (1944), Sophia de Mello Breyner Andresen – Her first book, little lyrics about the sea, like she would write for her entire life.

Caminhos que faço meus (2023), Pedro Gil de Vasconcelos – My Pilgrimages, maybe, or My Caminos if I can use the Spanish, pilgrimages to Santiago de Compostela.  Gil de Vasconcelos is a Portuguese journalist who has done many Caminos, so he can mix stories from the older ones into the current one, which is good since the current one is not all that interesting.  An book of high value for the Portuguese language learner since it is full of useful vocabulary that is constantly repeated.  I mean, it’s a long walk in the Galician mountains.  A glimpse of the trail is in the trailer (Youtube link) for the accompanying documentary, which I have not seen.

Ler, the Spring 2024 issue – To Read, or maybe Read! The Portuguese Bookforum, more or less. I read almost all of it.  An article about Spanish politics was too cryptic, and a throwaway where writers babbled about their most and least favorite words was too stupid. The feature article is about the current wave of young female writers from South and Central America and the interesting books they are writing. Nice to be able to read such a thing.