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Today is strangely silent. Some kinds of research I need a DVD on, but others I need perfect concentration. For some reason, I've scheduled a whole series of books today that require that total attention. it feels strange, because all summer I've worked to background noise - I come from a large and noisy family, so it helps me get through things.

I have reading for an essay/review (the last Sara Douglass book - I kept putting it off because it made me sad thinking about it, but I promised myself that it would appear by or in March and so sorrow is no longer a good enough excuse) and reading for my dissertation (two books - John Clute's Pardon This Intrusion and Jerome de Groot's The Historical Novel) plus more Margo. I'm doing a Lanagan dissection and Margo may not speak to me ever again! (I still totally love her writing - but I'm analysing it madly.)

It's a really nice set of work tasks. Makes for a good Sunday, with not much time for idiot procrastination. I'm almost through the Clute (because I cheated and started at midnight last night, because bed beckoned and the book beckoned and the book won) and nearly halfway through the Lanagan.

(no subject)

I'm updating here for my own benefit, because crossing things off lists isn't nearly as much fun (just today - lists will no doubt be crucial to my progress again tomorrow). I've read two of the books in their entirety (Clute and Lanagan), am nearly 1/3 of the way through the Douglass and 1/10 of the way through the de Groot. I'm taking lots of notes and the reading is just as much fun as I predicted. What I didn't predict, however, was the joyousness of some of Douglass' short stories. I'm dealing with Weather and I Don't Care, because the feel of the stories makes it all go away. This is what I love about good writing (regardless of genre) - it can make Weather go away.