Mit Dem Wissen Wächst Der Zweifel

Goethe

This week’s literary great, captured in my inimitable artistic style, is one Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, who was a German writer of not inconsiderable repute.

As with so many of the literary figures I’ve featured, I’ve never read anything he’s written, but I hear he was pretty good. Maybe I’ll learn German. There’s a whole load of Goethe Institutes dotted around the world where I could do that if I had the money and the time to do so.

Alas I have neither at the moment. I could always read a translation of his works, but where’s the fun in that?

Не продается вдохновенье, Но можно рукопись продать.

Pushkin

Another Friday, another, frankly dreadful, portrait of a literary great. And today we travel to Russia to meet Alexander Pushkin, who apparently was quite good at writing. Not so good at duelling though by all accounts and he met his premature end at the hands of his French brother-in-law, who apparently had a bit of a thing for Pushkin’s wife. It was all a bit unfortunate really, but Pushkin had already churned out a fair bit of literature by that point so it wasn’t all bad.

Maybe I’ll read some of it one day. Not in Russian obviously, that would be really hard. But I expect some of it has been translated into English by now.

 

Misinterpreting Literature

The Book Thief is a 2005 novel that was adapted into a 2013 film of the same name. I haven’t read the book or seen the film but I imagine I’d probably enjoy both. Certainly what I do know of them suggests that they are worthy works that depict the horrors of the Nazi regime and I really shouldn’t be making fun of them in any way.

And I’m not.

But the title did inspire my latest doodle, which, as it turns out, has nothing much to do with either the novel or the movie.

But I still think ‘The Book Thief’ is as appropriate a name as any for my latest creation…

Book Thief

Stuff I Used To Do But Don’t Do Anymore (Or How I’ve Become A Less Interesting Person Over Time): Part 4 – I Read A Book A Week (But Never Dostoyevsky…)

James Proclaims (4)

bookworm-151738_640

Here we are then at part 4 of my miniseries on stuff I used to be able to claim I did, but now I don’t really do.

And this one is on reading.

Books that is.

Because I used to read a lot of them and now I don’t.

Although, contrary to the suggestion in the title of this post, I never used to read a book a week. That was a little nod to one of my favourite sit-coms, ‘The Office’ (original UK version, although I am very much a fan of the US version too).

The comment about Dostoyevsky is a nod to the same episode, although it is true that I’ve never read any Dostoyevsky.

Judge me not though, for I can point to a great many worthy authors that I have read, thus proving my intellect. For I have read (and in some cases enjoyed) works by Dickens, Hardy, multiple Brontes, Stendhal, Flaubert, and numerous other authors that appear in the ‘Classics’ section of your local bookshop.

But don’t be too impressed, I’ve also read everything Dan Brown ever wrote, so I’m clearly not averse to an ‘easy read’ either.

In fact, my parents used to joke that I’d read anything I could get my hands on, even a cereal box if there was nothing else available. And in truth I have read some pretty good cereal boxes in my time. The Frosties box of summer 1987 stands out as a particularly good one, although the Coco Pops of autumn 1991 would run it close.

I jest of course, for while these days, as all sensible consumers should, I read the ingredients of cereal boxes to make sure that nothing contained therein is going to slowly kill me over time, I wouldn’t read a cereal box for entertainment purposes. Jars of Marmite on the other hand…

But I digress, for my parents made that observation about my reading habits (or one of them did and I’m not quite sure which of them to blame…) because as a child I did read a lot.

It might make me sound like quite a worthy child but I’m not sure that I was. It was the eighties and there wasn’t really much else to do. Continue reading Stuff I Used To Do But Don’t Do Anymore (Or How I’ve Become A Less Interesting Person Over Time): Part 4 – I Read A Book A Week (But Never Dostoyevsky…)