December 27, 2020

Morning light on the back of my head. Bach on CD. Have been dreaming enormously since retiring, the dreams tenacious; even getting up and going to the bathroom does not always interrupt the narrative. Last night I had applied to college, and the college was a colossal atrium, with all the classrooms surrounding a central space. It was exciting to stand in the center, hearing the hum of learning all about. It was a standard anxiety dream, in part. I’d registered for a particular course, and couldn’t find the room where it was held. The course was called “Yule.” Diane Zabik–of whom I have not thought since high school– found me and said, “David, the professor called your name and everything!” I transitioned from dreaming to thinking, and wondered if I would like to teach again. The answer was yes, under certain conditions. Still partially in the dream, I told Diane that colleges had gone from providing educations to selling degrees, and until that was reversed there would be friction between me and the system. That remained true when I stood full awake. Diplomas used to be the sign of wisdom–or at least expertise– acquired. Now they are purchased with as little regard to the training as the institution can get away with. I’m not sure most college administrators would even deny this. Everyone gets a trophy for participation. 

Spilled a bottle of vitamin D tablets, and decided to swallow all the ones which spilled. This was a mistake. Mildly nauseated all morning, a feeling just now easing away.

Bad ending to yesterday. It came from watching a renowned cast enact a filmed version of a play, whose mediocrity, blandness, and predictability they treated with solemn respect. Anything I have done would have been better. Anything. Yet there’s no work of mine with Maggie Smith and Tom Courtney and Michael Gambon featured on Netflix. I guess you could call this envy. Or you could call it amazement.

The INSTANT I finished writing the disgruntlement above, Facebook went “ding” and the following was messaged from K: Finished The One with the Beautiful Necklaces last night.   What a spectacularly beautiful book.   It needs multiple readings.  I look forward to returning to it. 

And from SS: “Beautiful” is the word. It’s in the title, it’s used more frequently in this book than any I’ve read before, and it earns all those “beauties.” Gotta admit, I found myself deeply resistant in the early going, because mystical/magical elements tend to repel me. But the story and the enormously appealing language kept me going till you beat down all of my defenses. Soon enough, I was completely won over. And, my god, the scope! The smooth movement through era after era, from one character’s rich, engaging story to another’s as rich or richer. I loved so many of these people you’ve conjured that, once I realized they would leave the story almost as quickly as they entered, I was a bit saddened: what happened next? But once I caught on to the internal rhythms, that bothered me not a jot. I was too busy being engaged by whom I met and what happened next. And it held not just beautifully but majestically all the way through. Also, more than even before with your work, I was soothed and comforted sentence by sentence. Once upon a time, I felt similarly about Robert Stone; though, in the last decade and a half of his work, I was far less taken with the novels overall than I was with, say, A Flag for Sunrise and, perhaps more than any other, Outerbridge Reach, I was still so taken with his sentences that they made me feel better no matter my mood. Your work, of course, is very different, as are the sentences, and yet they give me a similar feeling of having the world slowed down sufficiently for me to enter wholeheartedly into it. It’s a gift. So: bravo! And deepest thanks.

OK then. Never hurts to ask. 

Longish videos on You Tube of driving around Akron at various times in the past. Mostly I know where they are.