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I try every month to bring you a new snippet from the patron saint of this blog, the hypochondriac, painfully closeted, fabulously talented, Marcel Proust . . .

“There is no man however wise, who has not at some period of his youth said things, or lived a life, the memory of which is so unpleasant to him that he would gladly expunge it.

And yet he ought not entirely to regret it, because he cannot be certain that he has indeed become a wise man . . . unless he has passed through all the fatuous or unwholesome incarnations by which that ultimate stage must be preceded.

The lives that you admire, the attitudes that seem noble to you, have not been shaped by a paterfamilias or a schoolmaster, they have sprung from very different beginnings, having been influenced by everything evil or commonplace that prevailed about them. They represent a struggle and a victory.”

I had to read this for work. I see it has not yet been released, so I’ll say no more.

Just making sure to put it in the blog in the interests of keepin’ it real.

For some reason, I have to post this on my blog to establish its existence with Technorati. Search me as to why, but here it is:

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Now as I’ve told you before, I almost never buy books. Partly because I’m too cheap, and partly because I only really like owning books I really like. But I’m off to Zimbabwe for three months, where good books are hard to come by, so I gave in and spent some serious money on Amazon. Oh yes. So this is one of the first from that batch. I blogged about WHEN YOU ARE ENGULFED IN FLAMES by David Sedaris as I read it earlier this year, and really enjoyed it. ME TALK PRETTY was a bit of a let down, really. In the previous book, I enjoyed the way Sedaris was so open about his somewhat messed up life, but in this way rather than being pleasingly open and honest, it started to seem like a gimmick. And I didn’t really find it that funny. Hmmm. Is it because that it’s not as good a book, or is it because it’s the second of his books I’ve read, so I’m wise to his shtick? A pressing question for the ages.

Since I last wrote I’ve flown to Africa – 20 hours, FOUR stop overs – let’s not talk about it – so I’ve read a lot of books, but not been in a bloggable state. Much more to follow. After I get back from a four day holiday, far from internet. Laterz!

Well, I’ve finished it. And I’m quite thoroughly confused.

This husband, who was apparently so horrible to her, she divorced him and then when he asked her to, and not very nicely either, she remarried him. What? Then they got divorced again. Also, none of her three children seem to speak to her. What? How did we get there? I really can’t figure this lady’s personal life out. Suffice to say, it is wild. Almost as wild as the wildlife.

But the parts about the African landscape are very interesting, as are her attempts to set up a game reserve. She reads like an old colonial, but her reserve was apparently incredibly forward thinking – not just for its time, but for our time too, as it involved the local community; see here

After the acrimoious divorce, she keeps bleating about wanting to go back home to England. Bizarre, as this was a place that by my calculations she’d maybe spent 6 months in her whole life in. I guess as all the cultural life came from there, she felt that – despite it having nothing to do with her actual real life – that was home. Interesting that culture is actually a stronger predictor of ‘home’ than mere circumstance. ANYWAY. I just want to say, she moved to Norwich. This is a woman who used to chew up and spit up ground up doves for her orphan civet cat. Whole doves. With their feathers on. Yup. Her pet lion once mauled her son and she cheerily pumped him with the vet’s antibiotics. NORWICH.