Around the Block, Around the Books

A clear, chilly morning of thirty degrees. Out under the stars, I ran for the forty-second consecutive day, making five weeks of barefoot sandal running. I saw no one, and was met by only one car, which was driven by one of this country’s many thousands of “independent contractors” delivering packages.

I’m about halfway through Melville’s Typee, the narrator of which has come to question who is truly civilized — his American and European counterparts, who are crippled by convenience and angry and frustrated at every turn, or the so-called “savages” with whom he’s presently living, whose bright, cheerful days are unburdened by modern illnesses and cares.

I finished In Thackeray’s London, by F. Hopkinson Smith, which is basically an admiration of Thackeray and re-creation of his times garnished with wonderful charcoal drawings.

I’ve read the first two chapters of Washington: A Life, by Ron Chernow. From the first page, the book is interesting, as have been all of the books by the author that I’ve read: his biographies of Grant, Hamilton, and, most recently, Mark Twain. Owing to these and David McCullough’s excellent life of John Adams, and the history of the United States during the times of Jefferson and Adams written by Henry Adams, nothing happening today is a surprise — the seeds were sown long ago, right from the beginning.

I do wish more people would read these books.

I wish people would read, period. And really dig in.

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