Friday Curios

C.S. Lewis wished he could always be convalescing from some minor illness, to permit restful days spent with a good book. I don't know if my head cold, worse by the day, is of the permissive sort; it feels more dictatorial. I am commanded, by body and by husband, to remain on the sofa, if not in bed. Here I sit, surprisingly unfrustrated. There's freedom in forced rest. I (and everyone else on the internet) have a Top Reads of 2011 coming down the line. But today is for getting better, so instead of the book review I've been working on, I'll share some recent internet curios. I hope this weekend provides you a few moments (or more) in a cozy spot - without the head cold!

#1: On literature, European history, and (happy old word) the Walkman
Lewis also said a grasp of history is essential to understanding what's happening now. Here's an interview with writer and critic George Steiner. It's a dense piece, but eye-opening. Work through it (sans iPod) if you've got the time. If time is short, skip to the question on new technologies:

"Young people are afraid of silence. What will become of serious and difficult reading? Is it possible to read Plato while wearing a Walkman? I find this very worrying."

I also find myself explained:

"Books are great bulwark for private life."

#2: Permission to skip when reading for pleasure
On note of the impulse to skip, be encouraged that you're not alone. Here is permission, albeit equivocal. When I was in grad school, I sought a professor's help getting through the weekly stacks of essays, articles, and books. "You can't read it all!" she advised. More freedom.

"Maugham contends that "the aim of art is to please" – and of course, if that's its aim, then when it fails to please, it can be ignored, or skipped."

#3: A Poem: "Winter Thanks"
But at its heart, my today is a little less heady. I'm bending my thought toward unexpected gratitudes: the kindnesses of Cold. I'm still wrapping up that Dickens biography, which I'm off to finish now. His actual life may have run a bit off the rails, but his fictional tea-kettles steep up visions of comfort and home that are medicine for my mind. They sing "all is well" with every boiling whistle, which goes a long way toward getting well myself. Books and convalescence: perhaps C.S. Lewis really was onto something.

"and praise the kettle whistle, 

imitating an important train, 

delivering us 

these steam-brimmed sips of tea."