The heavens opened on Friday and remain so. Not camparis by the pool then, but lasagne al forno and the red. The fire has been lit for two evenings so it's also been bruschetta and grilled sausages on skewers with bay leaves in between (and more of the red).
Finishing Blood's A Rover has been aided by rivers of water pouring off every path and way through the woods, which is the only way over 600 pages of Ellroy inimitable prose style could have been downed (or drowned) as walks and outings are under drizabone and in wellies. Reading Ellroy does lead to disjointed conversational speech and hearing too.
A particularly posh conversation on the merits of various sherries became more surreal (after all, discussing sherry is not the norm, is it? Though norms are easily lost in walls of water advancing across the valleys) as provenance - which was OK-ish - moved on to a consideration of types of trees. Trees? Sherry? I'll down a glass of dry fino with the best but obviously there was more to it all for afficionados who even used plurals for the stuff. When talk of colour turned to blackness and visions of a kind of sherry stout tried to form, Ellroy interference with modes of communication had to be set aside.
"What are you all talking about? And why are you all suddenly so fogeyish about sherries? And how do you all know this stuff?"
"Cherries? Well this part of the world is famous for them. We were comparing the various sorts and flavours, and which we can still find - given the hail and difficulties with the downpours."
Oh.
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3 comments:
Fino San Patricio for me please. Ellroy too will do. Struck dumb by the exquisite prose and even more powerful tale told in Marilynne Robinson's Gilead. Read that and wonder why the insipid neurasthenics of English Lit., headed by head creep MacEwen, even bother to put pen to paper.
Here's a MacEwen novel in précis.
Once upon a time there was a creepy person/couple. They did something horrible to another creepy person/couple. The author pretended this meant something.
We had a lovely "reduced" party, HG, and wished you were there.
I wished I was there too, Elby, as I didn't get to Cracow. I received mobile messages on the lines of
'Enjoying a strictly controlled renaissance feast' and
'Sword-fighting now'.
and
'Case has arrived at last.' What had he gone to a renaissance feast wearing? And in what had he given the 'keynote address?' And who had a sword and who not?
A cryptic 'Lufthansa gave out a kit with clean pants and vest in view of overnight delays' offered a horrid 'Sorry for the outfit' vision.
I shall get Gilead in Frenzy when next there. I've made a start on Too big to fail' but I'm not convinced (and my hands hurt - that book is too big to hold). Also sinking further into early 20th century German politics.
What a shame. Great texts, though. A good time was had by all?One day we will all meet. We had a lovely party, low-key with good people from all walks of our life.
How did you find the Ellroy? Haven't read any of his works since the last blockbuster, but that and the preceding works as visions of America are truly fine. He is, as the Americans say, a piece of work.
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