Strange bedfellows, indeed
So for the next few weeks or months as the case may be I am re-reading 2 of the books that have played important roles in my life, Tropic of Cancer and Schmemann's Eucharist
What, huh?
Yeah, I know, a very strange couple--but for some reason I cannot shake either of these 2 books. I want to have them both committed to memory. What better way than to read them together?
In my feebleness I remember snippets of both books, and wonder why these two VERY different books continue to haunt me, stalk me, if you will. I think I remember that there are strong similarities between Miller and Schmemann.
What, huh?
Yeah, I know it sounds weird, and someone better versed in literary criticism would be able to show on just one page all the ways in which I am wrong about this. But I am not a literary critic; I am a reader. What I remember about some of the things I read may not be accurate. What I remember about these two writers is that both have a style and narrative that feels like a still-smarting smack across the face.
If I were cool, smart, and ambitious, I would in my reading these two books together, post passages that prove my memory. There are chronic reasons why I am none of the above. Don't expect great juxtapositions. There are likely none, and I may even come away from this tandem reading asking, what the heck was I thinking?
But I will warn you I will probably post some boring reflections on passages I come across in either book.
You are warned.
What, huh?
Yeah, I know, a very strange couple--but for some reason I cannot shake either of these 2 books. I want to have them both committed to memory. What better way than to read them together?
In my feebleness I remember snippets of both books, and wonder why these two VERY different books continue to haunt me, stalk me, if you will. I think I remember that there are strong similarities between Miller and Schmemann.
What, huh?
Yeah, I know it sounds weird, and someone better versed in literary criticism would be able to show on just one page all the ways in which I am wrong about this. But I am not a literary critic; I am a reader. What I remember about some of the things I read may not be accurate. What I remember about these two writers is that both have a style and narrative that feels like a still-smarting smack across the face.
If I were cool, smart, and ambitious, I would in my reading these two books together, post passages that prove my memory. There are chronic reasons why I am none of the above. Don't expect great juxtapositions. There are likely none, and I may even come away from this tandem reading asking, what the heck was I thinking?
But I will warn you I will probably post some boring reflections on passages I come across in either book.
You are warned.
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