there is a casual and naive beauty to the tone exhibited by the characters' (especially Faida) hunger for a living form of knowledge that transforms at the core that has just sucked me in . . .

that, and having the sound of spanish in my blood from my mother's side (she helped me do some initial translations of some of Neruda's Odas Elementales way back in my undergrad days) makes the shadowform of the original lurking just below the surface of the translation so enticing . . . need to get a hold of a spanish version to pair . . .

((now, ain't never gonna happen, but: how i would love a side/by/side version . . . ))

finally, for now, even before i started reading, i found myself treating the book itself with a rare (for me) form of reverence: i always always markup my books madly in ink, this one not: notes going into my journal instead . . . hmm . . .

is this mic on?

testing