Don't mind me, I'm just feeling pretentious...

Have you ever read The Prophet by Kahlil Gibran? I first came across it years ago (and it's funny reading up about it now, apparently it was quite popular in the 60s, and supposedly he's among the top three best-selling poets of all time, but guess what folks, I was born in the 80s and I had never even heard Gibran's name until I found this tiny book on a friend's shelf), and every once in a while it forces itself back to the front of my mind. 

I'm baffled by it. I never quite know whether it's sublime or overwrought. A little of both, I think. Maybe that's one reason why I love it- the sheer beauty of some sections, and the forced, sometimes awkward drama of others is an interesting reflection of the idea of duality that is woven through the entire book. There are some things that ring so true and others that strike me as completely bogus. I don't know. I like it. Look it up.

And until you do that, here are some of my favorite passages (under their respective section titles):

The Coming of the Ship (i.e. the Prophet gets ready to blow this joint)(my words, not Gibran's)
      "...He descended the hill, a sadness came upon him, and he thought in his heart: How      shall I go in peace and without sorrow? Nay, not without a wound in the spirit shall I leave   this city. 
      Long were the days of pain I have spent within its walls, and long were the nights of aloneness; and who can depart from his pain and his aloneness without regret? 
      Too many fragments of the spirit have I scattered in these streets...and I cannot withdraw from them without a burden and an ache. 
      It is not a garment I cast off this day, but a skin that I tear with my own hands. Nor is it a thought I leave behind me, but a heart made sweet with hunger and with thirst."

On Love (don't judge me for loving this passage, I know it's terribly Marianne Dashwood of me)

     "When love beckons to you follow him, 

      Though his ways are hard and steep. 
      And when his wings enfold you yield to him, 
      Though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you. And when he speaks to you believe in him, 
      Though his voice may shatter your dreams as the north wind lays waste the garden.... 

        But if you love and must needs have desires, let these be your desires: 
      To melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night. 
      To know the pain of too much tenderness. 
      To be wounded by your own understanding of love; 
      And to bleed willingly and joyfully. 
      To wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving; 
      To rest at the noon hour and meditate love's ecstasy; 
      To return home at eventide with gratitude; 
      And then to sleep with a prayer for the beloved in your heart and a song of praise upon your lips. "

On Children (probably my favorite section, especially those last two lines)
      "You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth. 
      The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, and He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far. 
      Let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness; 
      For even as he loves the arrow that flies, so He loves also the bow that is stable." 

On Friendship
     "When you part from your friend, you grieve not; 
      For that which you love most in him may be clearer in his absence, as the mountain to the climber is clearer from the plain. 
      And let there be no purpose in friendship save the deepening of the spirit."

A blog I love

Have you ever looked at the blog "the wild and wily ways of a brunette bombshell"?

I'm slightly obsessed and ohsoimpressed. She combines snapshots of life in New York with wonderful, thoughtful, natural writing. The photo posts satisfy my need for adventure, and the written snippets are almost embarrassingly romantic (embarrassing for me to read I mean, because I feel like an interloper- not in any way because of the writing), but still chill-makingly wonderful. Read this, or this, or this series of "letters to the man who'll make me an honest woman". Everything about this blog feels fresh and honest and wonderful.

Remember that one winter when it snowed like madness in Chattanooga? I do. It was heavenly..

Back in...June? It seems like it's been forever, but really (apparently) it's only been a few months...I started reading The Swan Thieves by Elizabeth Kostova. I'm not quite sure what to say about it.

Plot first, I guess. A fairly famous (and fictional) American artist is arrested at the National Gallery of Art for attempting to attack a painting (depicting the myth of Leda and the Zeus-swan). With a knife. I know, right? He is admitted to a psychiatric institution under the care of Dr. Marlow, psychiatrist and main character extraordinaire, who is also an artist of sorts and, taking an intense interest in his patient's case and only confession that "I did it for her", goes to extreme lengths to follow the artist's obsession with a possibly fictional woman whom he paints and sketches over and over and over again. Eventually Dr. Marlow finds this woman (a faint memory of her anyway) and the reason for his patient's obsessive focus on her. This case becomes something of an obsession for Dr. Marlow himself as he tracks down former amours, associates, and paintings of his patient. It is interesting to see a number of lives unfold and the way they reflect and re-reflect one another. The contemporary story-line is frequently interrupted by first letters and then narrative snippets from the life of the mysterious woman at the heart of all this arty intrigue.

The main problem with The Swan Thieves- its length. It was, like I said, an interesting story, but there simply was not enough material to fill all of those pages (and, it seems, nearly half of my suitcase). I don't think I enjoyed it quite as much as The Historian, but all in all, this was pretty wonderful. It's not the kind of book that I could gobble and gobble and finish quickly. Her writing is quite dense, and the book was very slow going for me. That being said, Kostova's writing has moments of quiet brilliance and unexpected insight. I really loved the imagined paintings that make up the core of Marlow's search. Each one seemed absolutely real and vivid. I wanted to see all of these paintings in real life, though the descriptions were so skillful that somehow I'm not sure I'd need to.


It was a nice book to span my time in D.C. D.C. is the main setting for the story, and it complemented my frequent museum visits well. Also provided great Metro reading as I could only focus for bits anyways.

Great if you're in the mood for something to nibble at. If you haven't read The Historian yet, read that instead.