Sponges, metamorphoses and psyche

After a morning during which I searched my ravaged memory for the concealed door to my troubles, I opened an old box which contained five old, forgotten notebooks of mine. Their black covers and red spines revealed nothing to me of when I last used them to gather observations, thoughts, fragments of lines, like a... Continue Reading →

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Sebald’s sentences

I have spent the afternoon, as if in retreat from a world that does not welcome me, lying in bed and reading, much as I did as a teenage boy when I fled a family that tormented me into the world that I conjured from the novels of Trollope, Dostoyevsky and Tolstoy, a world which... Continue Reading →

The recurring reproach to reason

Today, I finished reading Andrew Scull's Madness in Civilization: a cultural history of insanity, which has prompted a few posts here and here. The book ends with a series of falls from grace of modern ways of thinking about madness; psychoanalysis becomes stranded with its limitation to a small elite, only to find itself as... Continue Reading →

Turn and face the strange…

About a year ago I wrote a post Time might change me, but I can't change time. It was prompted by Felipe Fernandez-Armesto’s A foot in the river: why our lives change and the limits of evolution, and frustration with a dose of bland management rhetoric about change. Today I finished rereading Fernandez-Armesto’s book, again prompted to... Continue Reading →

Strange salt

All I've suffered, and all the suffering I've  caused, might have arisen from the lack of a little salt in my brain." Robert Lowell I have been reading Kay Redfield Jamison's Robert Lowell. Setting the River on Fire: a study of genius, mania and character. It is a lusciously detailed and clinically informed study of... Continue Reading →

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