There's more than one way to go into the wild.



1.) A. and I went to see Sean Penn's "Into The Wild" last night, which makes for a much more engaging film than those of you who have read the book are likely to imagine, and although I was tempted to make today's entry about Jack London (whose work the "hero" of the film reads, amongst other authors), "Call of the Wild" was actually published in 1903, but nevertheless I encourage you all to see this remarkable study on finding real happiness.

2.) I also encourage you to visit The London Review of Books for Julian Barnes' review of Novels in Three Lines by Felix Feneon, translated by Luc Sante, a work which will I believe clarify to you, gentle reader, what I am doing with 1904, as Feneon did for 1906, and I am indebted to JC for this vital recommendation (and forgive me for not being able to execute an accent aigue in this type font).

3.) Finally, although I am so deeply engrossed in Spengler's "Decline of the West" I can't put it down, I promise to move on to other matters in future posts, since I suppose a sunset is hardly the way to start the week or celebrate a holiday, and yet it seems fitting, wouldn't you agree, since it says a little about that ache we all feel sometime to connect, to find meaning, to find oneself, to be awed by nature's majesty, and to want to escape into the wild, even if it's only in your head.