I have been keeping up with the reading portion of the bookclub. It's the blogging part that seems to have suffered. To correct that, I am leaving you with a couple of cover shots from my copy of Milan Kundera's Ignorance and a passage from that very same book that resonated with me, fairly early on in the book:
Martin, her husband, was having the same dreams. Every morning they would talk about the horror of that return to their native land. Then, in the course of a conversation with a Polish friends, an emigre herself, Irena realized that all emigres had those dreams, every one, without exception; at first she was moved by that nighttime fraternity of people unknown to one another, then somewhat irritated: how could the very private experience of a dream be a collective event? what was unique about her soul, then?
I sometimes feel the same way about this blog. We all seem to have such supranatural connection, we GET each other in such unexplainable ways. And then I wonder, wait, if so many of us are going through this... what makes me think the stories are worth telling?!
Who else is reading?