Kafka

Since my last post, I've read an issue of Vanity Fair and cackled over the witty dissection of Larry King Live during June, with all the celebrity deaths; an issue of OK Magazine and an issue of Eclectic Reading.

I've finished off Kafka's diaries. It was much easier to read than I thought, although I admit that he was suffering and depressed throughout. I suppose that he suffered from severe untreated depression, to say nothing of the tuberculosis that killed him so young.

So in my nigh table are the complete works of Tocqueville and Sainte-Beuve, and my spouse Tony bought me Jose Saramago's latest.