Helen Garner writes to her childhood nemesis in yesterday’s paper. (H/T Nicole for the link, though I would tip that honour more in the direction of writers like Marilynne Robinson myself.) I also liked this little lesson from nature over at the The Plume. It’s a long sort of bow to draw, but I like it.
I am going very slowly at this biography of Bonhoeffer, by Erix Metaxas, having set it aside for a week or so to do other things, but still very much enjoying it. I was interested last night to read a little section called Acedia and Tristitia. Bonhoeffer decided to institute the practice of confessing to
In the park where I play with my friends, there are winding paths that let us out onto the wider, more lucid avenues, and a weeping willow by the pond that is just about the most graceful thing I know: it’s so melancholy, and melancholy is synonymous with beautiful. Eva Hoffman, Lost in Translation.
In other news, remember back here how I told you all some friends of mine were running a crowd funding campaign to print a book, Kinds of Blue, an anthology of comics about depression? Well, last week I actually went to the book launch, which was very exciting. So, now you can actually buy yourself
One of my visiting nieces is a lover of movies. The other always has her nose in a book. The movie lover was repeatedly scanning through my DVD collection (which is by no means expansive, and of little interest to a 12-year-old) but on the last day she pulled out a couple of short films