My six volumes of the Anthony Trollope Barsetshire chronicles have arrived. I carefully numbered them on the page, after looking it up online to see which book was first, which was second, and so on. I did all this, arranging them in a stack as I numbered. Then I flipped one over to read the blurb on the back and discovered that it said ‘this is the first novel.’ Looked at the next one. ‘This is the second novel.’ Checked one more. ‘This is the third novel.’
I’ll start reading them in a week or two, I think. I’ve been reading Wind, Sand and Stars by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, and I’ve just been bowled over by it. It’s a very slim book, and technically part of my post-surgical reading, but I broke into the reading list early. To my delight, de Saint-Exupéry is a master of phrasing. I looked him up online and found a reference to him as being the ‘Joseph Conrad of the sky,’ and I was even more delighted. It’s a memoir of his work as a pilot in the 1920s and the 30s, and it’s beautiful – simply beautiful. I’ll be sorry when I’m done with it, I think, but it’s going to be a book I keep and read again. I’ve ordered more of his work (he’s the guy that wrote The Little Prince), but I’m interested in these memoirs of flying.
Very busy at work right now, tying off loose ends and getting done what needs to be done.