The page tore on page 34 of my copy of Mimesis as I was standing on the MUNI platform at 4th and King, from the divergent pressures of my thumb holding down the page and the wind suddenly and violently whipping it upward. I said “shit!” quietly to myself, but then imagined it as a mark of physical reality being imposed on my text, which may seem essential and untouchable but is really just a single, unique copy with the same mimetic words printed on it. Erich Auerbach himself, on the very page, inserted himself into the narrative (“As I open Rostovtzeff’s work to check the quotation above, my eyes fall on this sentence: ‘The question, however, arises, How are we to account for the existence of comparatively large numbers of proletarians in Italy?'”), which was an alarming departure from the otherwise omniscient authority of his literary criticism. I’m now reassured to know that future holders of this book will have tangible evidence of that single wind on Monday August 13th 2012.
What I’m Reading Now
- Support Masjid al-Rabia, Chicago organization for marginalized Muslims youcaring.com/masjidalrabia-… via @youcaring 11 months ago
- RT @caleb_crain: These people are monsters. twitter.com/SeanMcElwee/st… 11 months ago
- RT @nytimestravel: Temples for the literary pilgrim: 8 beautiful bookstores from around the world. nyti.ms/2hvG5Gx https://t.co/Gxd… 1 year ago
1940s 2000s Ada or Ardor American art asian autos Berkeley blogging bookmarks book reviews books bookshelves bookstores boyfriend British British Empire chinese Dave Eggers design downtown fantasy fiction film film adaptations gay Henry Miller home decor How We Are Hungry Imperialism indie kid In the Aeroplane over the Sea Jane Austen japanese Jeff Mangum Jewish jhumpa lahiri literature Lolita Michael Chabon moes music Nabokov Neutral Milk Hotel New York City new york times nonfiction novels oakland orientalism photography politics potrero hill racism reading reviews road literature road trip Rudyard Kipling san francisco science fiction sentences SevenPonds shadows short fiction short stories sidewalks street art travel trees TV vanity Vladimir Nabokov wheel of fortune writing