Finished Thucydides Once Again yesterday. Love how in the final epic our traveler argues with himself, scolds himself for being annoying, for falling into the trap of looking for big meanings once again, for allowing established arcs of imagery to take over the telling. And he manages to end the wonderful small book of observations on a poignant note because he has been back to Mt St Victoire to wander part that has been recently destroyed by fire and the paths are all gone. "But if resignation, why, then, "additional"? . . . He ends with questions."
Wonder if he wrote these, culled them from his notebooks into a gathering as a counter-statement to the long, rambling essays. Just to do it. Just to show his skill and gifts in a manner opposite the other books.
Now to read the two essays remaining in the Quiet Places. Tiredness and Successful Day. Waiting for the Sierra Gredos volume to show so I can stay with the chronology.
In Tiredness already a line that reminds me of when I lived out in Bethesda or Silver Spring in the house of a woman who rented me a room, what semester or year, the last? at Maryland. "the tiredness of being alone in a rented room on the outskirts; solitary tiredness." 157
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