On New Year's Eve I went, as I have gone for the past decade or more, to St. Mark's Episcopal Cathedral here in Seattle to walk the labyrinth. Each last day of the calendar year, the folks at St. Mark's push aside the two central tiers of pews and spread a tarpaulin carpet on the floor imprinted with a replica of the labyrinth that is carved in stone into the floor of Chartres Cathedral in France. Read more about The Blank Page
In my little corner of the universe, almost everybody gets a book for Christmas. The following are some of my favorites, all but mine published more than ten years ago.
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Barbara Stoner. Yes. I'm suggesting my very own, because I think it's actually a very good first novel. Luckily, most of my readers think so too.
In the December issue of Opera News, Brian Kellow wrote, in On the Beat, about an opera he imagines. He calls Jean Rhys's novel, , a "novel that sings." I have yet to read Wide Sargasso Sea, and if I were prone to hairshirts, I suppose I should slip one on for this transgression. Read more about How Cool Would This Be?
You can pick up the damndest tidbits just driving around in the car, as I was doing this morning listening to a lecture from The Great Courses on Boethius and . The lecturer was going on about the concept of consolation at work in this, that and the other work of Great Lit and I was nodding along (but not off) when my ears pricked up.
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THEN I SAW THE CONGO, CREEPING THROUGH
CUTTING THROUGH THE JUNGLE WITH A