It’s National Coffee Day, and I thought it was appropriate to publicly profess my unyielding love.
My private collection of coffee photos may be indicative of a problem, but for now I’m sticking to a story of adoration.
A few days ago, a collection of his love letters to editor Alsager Vian fetched £34,000 at a Derby auction house. The five letters were written during the height of his fame in 1887, and until recently hadn’t been revealed. They hint at his homosexuality and expose his interest in the young male editor. Fervid Wilde fans and scholars will jump at the chance to read a few more words by their favorite author. While I am just as fascinated, and recognize that as a literary giant, Wilde is open to public scrutiny, I’ve been thinking about the ethics of publishing private thoughts posthumously.
When Sylvia Plath’s unabridged journals were published in 2000, many felt that it was long overdue, and that Ted Hughes had unfairly kept them under lock and key. Was it unfair? Do Sylvia’s fans have a right to read everything she ever wrote?
What do you think? Do Oscar’s private letters add to his canon and help us understand him or his work better? Or is it the literary equivalent of a Paris Hilton up-the-skirt moment?
Fantastic Read: On Distraction, Alain de BottonFabulous Food: Butternut Squash + White Bean Soup, Sweet PaulFaraway Place: Sarah Jackson does the Down UnderFine Book: Hunger, Knut Hamsun
No seriously, that soup is fabulous. Perhaps if I make another batch, it will summon fall weather.
I’m rendezvousing with friends this weekend. Rumor has it one of them will be dressed as a pirate.
“To have come on all this new world of writing, with time to read in a city like Paris, where there was a way of living well and working, no matter how poor you were, was like having a great treasure given to you.” – Ernest Hemingway, A Moveable Feast
The realist in me knows it’s silly to fantasize about sitting in a crowded left bank cafe within shouting distance of Ernest Hemingway and F. Scott Fitzgerald. It’s absurd to pine for a 1920s intellectual cafe culture that no longer exists. I’ll just have to get over not having the chance to overhear a conversation between Sartre and Simone de Beauvoir at Café de Flore.
But the idealist in me hopes that some time in the near future, books and words and thoughts and revelations about the human condition will matter more than social media gurus, facebook apps, $5 bottles of designer water and meme bandwagoning.
I’m tapped out this morning, and have run back into the arms of an old lover: books. Glorious, lovely, real-life, actual, sniff-the-pages books. I’ll be the first to point out the irony of writing about this on my blog. Perhaps I should have shared these thoughts via a letter?
Fantastic Read: This is Your Life. I don’t typically like this stuff, but it struck a chord today.
Fabulous Food: Chocolate Dulce de Leche Flan. Oh David!
Faraway Place: A Daily Thing. Meet Sabine, a French expat in Australia.Fine Book: A Moveable Feast. Admission: I’ve read this at least 5 times.Found!: Genius ice packs. Seriously, I need these every other day, and the boys love them.
Have a great weekend, everyone. I’m celebrating turning another year older. Wiser? I hope.
… and show me your blog, your shop, your dog, your aunt Edna’s mean pumpkin pie recipe.
I been wanting to compile a list of reader blogs and goodness for awhile, and well, today is the day.
Feel free to post links to anything you like, but don’t forget your blog … I am making a master list.
Looking forward to reading the comments.