September 2006

Thursday was my birthday. Perfect excuse to hit up the Opéra Garnier for some Mozart. Listen—everyone needs to find themselves a reason to go to this place at least once. The building itself is worth the ticket price.

Vincent gets this short letter from Geneviève. She's dying. Wants to see him. He drops everything, jumps in his car. They loved each other once, before tragedy split them apart. Going back to her means confronting everything he's been running from.

This isn't your traditional novel. Lessing believes literature needs social purpose—you're not just telling stories, you're transmitting experience. So the structure here is wild, fragmented, deliberately complex. Not for everyone but absolutely worth the effort.

Rich women with too much time create an exclusive club to debate "culture." They invite this writer who's completely full of herself and she systematically embarrasses them. Wharton at her most deliciously cruel.

Sometimes a book hits you at exactly the right moment. This one did that for me. The protagonist reaches middle age and looks back at her past with brutal honesty. I felt seen in ways I didn't expect.

Tilda and Alex are hosting dinner. Important for Alex's career. Tilda's planned everything. Except her sister-in-law Clarrie showing up unannounced and wrecking the whole evening. The longest, most uncomfortable dinner you'll ever read about.

Remember that Brassens song? "If by chance / On the Pont des Arts / You meet the wind, the frisky wind / Careful, watch your skirt." When I was a teenager this song made me dream. Made Paris feel like a place where poetry actually happened.

84. That's my to-be-read pile number. I'm actually shocked. When Clarabel proposed this little game for book hoarders, I laughed because I thought mine was manageable. Turns out I'm in deep.

I love September. Not because leaves fall or my birthday's coming. September means theater season starts in Paris. Time to dig through programs and pick shows. My cultural life begins again after the summer drought.

Disappointed doesn't even cover it. I was so excited for this Indian novel that got compared to Perfume by Süskind. That comparison is absolutely ridiculous. Whoever made it should be ashamed.