Nearing the end of Ellmann's biography of Joyce. Makes for melancholy reading, what with the near-blindness, the fights with Nora, the tragic decline of Lucia's mind. But there's also the enigma of the young Beckett, Joyce playing Bloom to his Dedalus.
What to read next? Recent purchases (apart from catechisms) are two of William Peter Blatty's
Exorcist screenplays, two by Whit Stillman, and Oswald's Tale by Norman Mailer. These were all bargains, by the way, the screenplays from Judd Books, the Mailer from Skoob.
In the playground today, kicked around with B and Helen and Georgina. Our Spike and H's Hannah commandeered wee Arthur's bike and joyrode in a frenzy, before coming to a stop at the edge of the sandpit... There was a dramatic pause, just like in the movies, before they toppled over the handlebars and into the sand in a tangle of limbs and blonde hair. No children were harmed during the making of this entry.
B's brother Toby stopped by, on his way to his flat from Stansted. He mostly lives in Tallinn, Estonia, so it was a rare pleasure. Spike went into hyperdrive, such was his delight, and had to crash for a nap.
Tomorrow, Marian worship (in the play, that is). And reading up about the IRA during WW2.