I’ve been listening to a lot of U2 lately. I was getting very tired of my playlist, so I made an all-U2 playlist (only 255 tracks, mostly live performances) and I’ve been listening to that and remembering where my obsession comes from. I don’t care if they are billionaire hypocrites (which I don’t really believe) I just love their music. Seriously, I’ll be working and a note or lyric will strike me and I’ll just pause in my work to appreciate it – it’s that good.
I recently finished rereading (for perhaps the 4th time) A Scientific Romance. Now I’m on to a biography of Edith Wharton that I don’t really like. I haven’t read many biographies, and this one takes what Wharton wrote in her autobiography and diaries and psychoanalyzes to the point where the author is creating supernatural creatures to represent Wharton’s adolescent sexuality. I love Wharton, but I think I can do so quite well without knowing these things. And the fact that Wharton herself already wrote her biography suggests that what she wrote was all she wanted people to know. It seems almost rude for these Wharton scholars to dredge further into her personal life than she herself would wish, were she around to have any say.
If you’re thinking to yourself: “Who the hell is Edith Wharton?” To that I say: “Shame on you, lame ass hick! Get a library card.” Wharton is my Favourite Female Author (I have to separate Favourite Authors into distinct categories or my head will explode), she also makes the short-list for Favourite Author Overall. She wrote mostly about New York high society in the early 1900s. She didn’t necessarily paint a pretty picture of those times, though. What I love best about her is her ability to write endings. I have yet to be disappointed by the end of a Wharton book, when I’m so often let down by other authors. Wharton’s endings are always realistic, even if that makes them unhappy (which many authors would shy away from). For more on her awesomeness I refer you here or here (sorry about the po-ups).
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