I shouldn’t but I shall March 14, 2006Posted by BiB in Uncategorized.
I really shouldn’t. I mean, I should be working… But as I thrashed around in bed, thinking about work and bills and how bad my hair is, I sought solace in literature. Well, actually, solace is a lie. I just thought it might knock me out, but it didn’t. Now the disenfranchised bookseller very generously gave me Steppenwolf some time ago, having decided that, at 35, I am still not too old to be educated. And quite right he is too. (He’s still giving away music, by the way.) I letched voyeuristically through another few pages, guffawing in places, thinking, “I must put that line on my blog,” in others (I won’t ever, of course) and worrying that Harry is, of course, me (except I’m dim, am not alone and, leider, don’t drink a pint of wine a day (usually)) in others still. But what I really got to thinking about, as I ploughed onwards, is that I never want to read a word of Russian literature ever again. Germans just do this type of… what? Nastiness? Not that I find Hazza nasty, of course. Erm. OK, outsiderishness, SO much better than the Russkies. With Russians it’s all so fucking moral and innocent and naive and uncynical. Hazza pisses all over the underground man. And as for Oblomov, who actually is me, except I don’t have a man-servant, well he can just fuck off in comparison. Absolutely fuck right off. No, give me German torture over Russian torture any day of the week. It’s darker, more twisted, more perverse and so much more fun. And no stinking, effing moralising being pummelled into you at every turn. Although far be it from me to make a ludicrous generalisation on the back of the last few days’ reading material…