Sigmund Freud - Werner HorvathI spend the day reading one of yesterday's acquisitions, The Interpretation of Murder, by Jed Rubenfield. It tells a fictional, psycho-analytical, detective story: shrouded in the actual people and events that surrounded Sigmund Freud's one trip to America, in 1909.
I had to choose between A M Homes, This Book Will Save Your Life (which I desperately want to like in a cult book way and am terrified that I won't) and the book I chose on Freud. In the end, I decided by reading the first pages. I enjoyed it, despite the fact that it hinges on Freud, who is not one my favourites. It made mincemeat of Jung, too, presenting him as an arrogant nutter, which may or may not be true. I think what I liked most about the book though, was that the author was not afraid to poke fun of himself and his central idea. He's got a great website, too, which I haven't seen before in many books for grown-ups.
The Heights are silent, but for music, and the incidental soundtrack of life: taps running, kettles boiling etc. I am engaged in a television amnesty. What I really want is a silence - mine - but this is too hugely impractical. If I cannot engage in emitting no sound, then I will engage instead in omitting sound, or at least as much as the NSNs allow - these people puzzle me deeply, when I am prompted to think of them at all: it seems they can do nothing quietly, not even being quiet.
This morning, before my silent readathon, I brave the world to return the films my sister and I borrowed. I watch The Last Kiss with/by Zach Braff, but am disappointed with it. There is something too saccherine, too clean about it that I don't believe and don't want to. Even though the happy ending is cute. I didn't like what they did to Rachel Bilson: her character felt like a cardboard cut-out.
I like the quote from the film that the Chief pointed out to me earlier in the week: If you never give up, you can't fail.
Although, I'm not sure if it's technically correct. What if you were buried alive?
Here's an interview with Mika, and one of the many great cheesy songs on his great cheesy album.
I had to choose between A M Homes, This Book Will Save Your Life (which I desperately want to like in a cult book way and am terrified that I won't) and the book I chose on Freud. In the end, I decided by reading the first pages. I enjoyed it, despite the fact that it hinges on Freud, who is not one my favourites. It made mincemeat of Jung, too, presenting him as an arrogant nutter, which may or may not be true. I think what I liked most about the book though, was that the author was not afraid to poke fun of himself and his central idea. He's got a great website, too, which I haven't seen before in many books for grown-ups.
The Heights are silent, but for music, and the incidental soundtrack of life: taps running, kettles boiling etc. I am engaged in a television amnesty. What I really want is a silence - mine - but this is too hugely impractical. If I cannot engage in emitting no sound, then I will engage instead in omitting sound, or at least as much as the NSNs allow - these people puzzle me deeply, when I am prompted to think of them at all: it seems they can do nothing quietly, not even being quiet.
This morning, before my silent readathon, I brave the world to return the films my sister and I borrowed. I watch The Last Kiss with/by Zach Braff, but am disappointed with it. There is something too saccherine, too clean about it that I don't believe and don't want to. Even though the happy ending is cute. I didn't like what they did to Rachel Bilson: her character felt like a cardboard cut-out.
I like the quote from the film that the Chief pointed out to me earlier in the week: If you never give up, you can't fail.
Although, I'm not sure if it's technically correct. What if you were buried alive?
Here's an interview with Mika, and one of the many great cheesy songs on his great cheesy album.
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