One, I'm reading the best book I've read in nearly forever, John Weir's [What I Did Wrong].
This is one of those books that's so good I want to go out and buy sixteen copies so I can give one to every one I know. I may yet. It's too short -- a bit under 300 pages -- and I find myself reading it as slowly as possible, not wanting it to end, that sort of book. I also keep flipping to the end to read the blurb, saying to myself, who is this guy? Why have I never heard of him? Why isn't he famous? Why is there no John Weir parade? No John Weir Chair at Yale? No John Weir Holiday every year? John Weir Wing at the library? Good shit, this is like the best book I've read in my life, this can't be the first thing he's written?
And it isn't, he wrote one -- one!-- other book back in the 80's, but that's it. It's killing me. Once I've read that I'll be done. Argh!
It's such a good book. Nearly every page is arresting. I don't want to give away anything -- not that it's heavily plot-driven, cause it isn't, it's not that sort of book -- but an example, a for instance, there's this bit where the main character is remembering his best friend from high school teaching him to shoot baskets, and that's it, that's all, nothing else is happening, it's a page and a half, maybe, but the writing just knocks you over.
And then! Weir goes off, now and then? Into these flights of language? Oh, he kills me. It's great.
I don't even like that sort of thing. I'm into plot! But this is just such a good book. Go! Find it! Read it! Or I'll find you and you'll be sorry!
Wait -- I forgot the other thing.
I learned a new word.
Deontology: the theory and study of moral obligations.
In't that a great word?
Nothing to do with John Weir. Just the other really excellent thing happening in my life just now. I like good words.
3 hours ago