True Greatness

Now enmeshed in Book 8 of The Brothers Karamazov, with the focus on Mitya. There's still a way to go in the novel, which makes me very happy indeed as I don't really want it to end. Will FD sustain this level of brilliance? I'll be surprised if he doesn't as everything so far has had the air of effortless spontaneity, as if the book is simply an improvisation of sheer genius, which can't possibly go wrong as it doesn't quite know where it's going.

I've previously rated, for more than a few years, Anna Karenina and Madam Bovary as the two greatest novels of the 19C in any language but I suspect I'll soon be changing my mind.

Every episode of The Brothers K seems to achieve a kind of perfection, but I'd rate the Gold Mines chapter, in which Mitya tries to borrow 3000 roubles from Madame Khokhlakov the funniest pages of any prose I've ever read. Better than Dickens at his considerable best. And I'm not even sure that Dostoevsky intends to be funny.

By Moonlight

Exceptionally beautiful full moon last night, illuminating us as we made painfully slow progress along the North-South Highway to this Far Place. The irony was sweet and bitter all at once. Arrived late, but happily in one piece, ready to fight another day. That day being today. 

Not sure I actually won the fight, mind you. But another gorgeous moon this evening made all my struggles irrelevant. 

Side By Side

Conscious of the gaps, some quite substantial, in my exposure to the works of musicians I hugely admire, I've been experimenting of late with playing stuff in the background, usually via Spotify on my laptop, without trying too hard to take it in. In some ways this goes completely against my philosophy that it grossly undervalues music not to give it reasonably full attention, but consistency has never been my strong point. That's how I'd come to play the full three hours of Prince's (wonderful) Emancipation (which is now receiving the treatment for the second time even as I type this.)

Earlier today I happened upon a rather tasty commentary on George Harrison's 1974 album Dark Horse, which reminded me of just how good the ex-Beatle's solo stuff could be (obviously I'm thinking All Things Must Pass here) and just how little I really knew of it. So I interrupted my second run of Emancipation (getting hooked, obviously) and banged on George's third solo album.

The result of the juxtaposition was disorientating, to say the least. To say that initially I found Dark Horse plodding would be an understatement. Four tracks in and I thought it unlistenable and put a merciful, decisive halt to the proceedings. Every song from His Purple Majesty I'd felt as so casually funky that it was impossible to stop listening even when I wasn't actually listening - if you see what I mean. And that experience seemed to have coloured my consciouness.

But I felt a bit guilty over all this. The guy commenting on Dark Horse was very much a fan, yes, but a sensible, well-informed one, and he'd had some very positive things to say about most of the tracks. It felt necessary somehow, to resume playing the album through, and I did just that a couple of hours later. At which point it began to sound okay, if not downright promising. I still couldn't get on with the Xmas song Ding Dong, but charitably recalled that I'd quite liked it as a single when it came out. Indeed, I reckon I'm ready to give it all another listen in the near-ish future, though I don't feel compelled to do so (in contrast to my reactions to Prince's 3 CD epic.) 

Not sure what I've learnt from this, except being reminded not to rush too readily to judgement of any music that aspires to a degree of seriousness. Oh, and not to juxtapose anything less than brilliant next to Prince once seduced by his inimitable groove.