I'm reading Nora Ephron and am seized by the desire to live in New York, and be single, in my 20's. My 20's are nearly over, and I am married to a man with whom I live in North Carolina- which is pretty damn far from New York, in every way that seems possible.

The way she speaks of New York, with its charm to residents and difficulties for visitors reminds me of Geneva. When I lived there it was great- visiting it is tiresome. I do not enjoy the high prices of everything, and the lack of belonging. Perhaps this goes for all of Switzerland. It is pretty, but visiting it only makes you feel outside of a perfect bubble of joy and beauty. Which isn't even necessarily true. Switzerland is full of annoying things even for residents, and there are many such bubbles to be found in the world. Perhaps even in North Carolina.

The Farthest Field

I am currently reading The Farthest Field: An Indian Story of the Second World War, and am not enjoying it as much as I had hoped. It pains me to say this, but the prose might be too florid for me, I didn't think I would ever say such a thing but my tastes in literature appear to have changed. Too many curlicues, and similes, and flowers. Too much ponderous description. It is starting to feel like too little substance wrapped up in a whole bushel of shiny, complicated bows.

I feel a bit sad because I like war stories, and World War II stories in particular. The author was a couple of years ahead of me in school, so I am predisposed to love his work. And yet I cannot because there is just too much flourishing about, and clever use of words (I do not want to be looking up more than one archaic word per page- this is non-fiction not a Scrabble game). It is tiring.

I believe I shall go and read some Nora Ephron. She is not as evocative about Calicut, or Madras, but that is ok. We will get to the point sooner, and there might be fewer idlis, but there will be greater comprehension.

Okbye.

I don't think Beyonce is that great.
Clearly I am not getting it.