Whales, cont.

After a hiatus, I’ve gone back to Moby Dick.

Readers, you’ve had a narrow escape. This entry was going to be a long quotation from Chapter XXXII, about how Ishmael classifies the whale as a fish.

I read that quotation again and again, and I asked myself: “Would it improve the world to post this?” I decided it wouldn’t. Delete, delete.

Thinking about the general state of the world is a symptom of depression.

I’m much happier than I was some years ago. But melancholy still afflicts me – especially when my physical health is lousy. At present I’m not suffering too terribly. My throat is sore, and my body aches; but I’ve been able to go to work, and I’m not always wracked by pain.

Karin also is sick and sad. One of us gave it to the other.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

Having just finished reading a good book about El Salvador, I’m revisiting some classics: Huckleberry Finn and The Sun Also Rises. The Twain book is about as enjoyable as it was 23 or 24 years ago. The Hemingway book, I’m reading for the third time. I understand it better than I used to. In high school, there were some things I didn’t pick up on, like that the narrator had had his penis injured during the war. And this time I noticed right away that Georgette is a prostitute; before, I’d taken it for granted that the narrator wanted to buy her her dinner.