Yesterday afternoon, still post-migraine-hazy, I finished reading Robinson Crusoe — I liked and admired it much more on this read, though I still think it falls apart as soon as Friday appears (and not just because of the embarrassing broken English). Now I’m onto Boswell again, reading straight through rather than in fits for a class. My copy is an old Modern Library hardback, bought last summer in a used bookstore in Gold Beach, Oregon, and I’m marking it up something fierce. I’m annotating things related to my potential dissertation topic; things related to the reason novel idea; things related to other books I’ve read (lots of connections to Charlotte Lennox and The Female Quixote, unsurprisingly); and things that are just damned interesting. I happen to think that most things relating to Johnson are damned interesting, but that’s because I’m a geek.
Here you can witness some photographic evidence of my geekiness, from our March trip to London. This is the Gough Street house, which is light-filled and creaky and wonderful and full of weird little memorabilia, like the portrait of the Infant Johnson, and the unremarkable-looking chest with a sign announcing that it should not be touched because “IT ONCE BELONGED TO DAVID GARRICK!” (T. took a great picture of this sign.)
We only spent about forty-five minutes there (followed by fish & chips at Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese), but I loved it. It made me want to write. And live there, but, hey. The writing I can do.
And now, back to my synopsis. Yargh.