The Confidence Man

Oh, dear. Another whole month without writing anything. I'm going stale, I fear.

I know that I seemed very into The Stranger, but as I kept reading, I realized how depressing it is. Camus kind of lures you in with a lot of wide open space, and then confines you with Mersualt in a prison cell. It's very disarming. In fact, when I got to the prison sections of the book, I kind of, you know, put it back on the shelf. I don't know if I'm ready to go to prison. There will come a time when I can really face that novel, but not right now. Perhaps another time.

I have been reading some. I am currently about a third of the way through a reread of The Confidence Man, Melville's last and in my opinion most difficult novel. I just adore his writing. He is such an entertaining writer, so knowledgeable, and yet so self-deprecating. Like every good little hipster, he simply dwells in irony. The irony in The Confidence Man runs so deep, I feel like I'm implicated in some kind of pointless gesture reading it. He presents both sides of an argument, but also often works in another kind of argument, one in which the argument as a whole is seen as absurd. An acknowledgement that the argument is absurd both undercuts and underscores the importance of whatever side Melville wants you to root for. I truly think he felt his audience was an angry mob, and he wanted to slay them and please them with equal fervor. Of course, I'm drawn to dualistic mentalities, torn personalities. I just love a tortured soul.

We're trying to plan another trip to Europe. I think if we don't simply go back to visit our friends in London, we will try to take on an adventure in Spain, including Morocco. There is not a lot of other news to relate. I'm working a lot more now. I'm a senior editor, and perhaps a soon to be personal assistant to the CEO. Work is kind of hard when it's not your passion. But accomplishment is valuable. And experience is valuable. I just wish dreaming and chatter were, as well.