One of the books I happen to be reading now is Wittgenstein's Mistress by David Markson. I have to admit, I enjoy Mr. Markson's books very, very much. His are some of the most enjoyable reads I've ever come across. Reader's Block and This is not a Novel were brilliant. I practically inhaled them. And I'm having as much fun with this one (funny, his character even mentions Gaddis and The Recognitions quite a few times in it.)
I also happen to be reading Fernando Pessoa's The Book of Disquiet. I didn't realize it until after I started reading both, but they each have isolation as a key theme.
Isolation. Solitude. Something I cherish very much. Don't get me wrong, I love my wife and daughter. But I also enjoy my time to myself. Some people can't stand to be alone. They will do anything to deflect it if they find themselves alone for more than a few minutes: watch TV, turn on the radio, surf the net, anything to keep from being alone with their thoughts.
But not me. It is the only time I can think. Really think. And while I've never deluded myself in believing I have anything grandiose lurking in my cerebrum, still, my mind is the only thing I can perhaps ever really hope to understand. No matter how much you think you may know someone, you never really know what's going on deep in their brain. Hell, they're probably not aware of much of it themselves. How could they be if all they're looking for is distraction?
Know thyself, Socrates said. If I could just accomplish that, I would be content. And although I'm quickly approaching the half-century mark, I feel I still have a long way to go.
