As always, I'm reading several things. I thought it might be interesting to show them to more people than those I ride the bus with in the afternoons, and the frustrated baristas who try to understand my order while my nose is buried in a book.
Forgive me, ye baristas of the world.
Anyway, this week I've picked up The House at Pooh Corner by A.A. Milne for some wonderfully light reading between Kazuo Ishiguro's The Remains of the Day and Melville's momentous Moby-Dick.
As ever, I am astounded by how beautiful Milne's books are. Simple, yes. Silly, certainly. And yet, despite the silliness and Disney-fied versions of the stories, I find that Pooh and the other residents of the Hundred Acre Wood can be especially poignant, and perfectly profound some of their statements can be. It reminds me of my childhood, and how everything and everyone was beautiful and good--because really...how could they not be?
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