Daisy Miller
And so I become the first book-loving person to crinkle my nose soundly at Daisy Miller. I have to link to the publication which sells for a dollar, I thought so little of it. Somewhere else (I'll link someday) I've gone a bit into my reasons why. Suffice to say I found Daisy completely boring, and was relieved when she died. Then I knew the story would end soon. (If you wanted spoiler space, you're not getting it. Not for her.)

Woven lightly between The New Yorker crusades have been some personal enrichment attempts in the form of anthologized American writers, which was how I came to finally read Daisy. I suppose these should be blogged, but most are short pieces. I read a great story by Roddy Doyle in a winter issue of TNY yesterday (aren't they all great, though?) and I'm not blogging that. As with vacation photography, you have to mind the line between happy documentation and the intrusive variety.

Speaking of vacation, I'm considering a little Joel Chandler Harris next. The email address for PayPal'ing a few thousand U.S. dollars so Mike can fly over from Australia and we can use our passes to see Br'er Rabbit be welcomed home to his Orlando warren all over again (and again and again) is shari@viptx.net. I have a lovely Xena/Gabrielle coffee mug I'd happily surrender as a premium, and I'm sure I could rustle up a few NPR/PBS-inspired tote bags and T-shirts. Are there no mad billionaire softies who also dislike Daisy Miller out there?

24 June 2001 |

Previously: immure
Next: putative






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