I didn't read that much yesterday - I'm still enjoying the book I think, and I think I'd like to take apart what it means when we enjoy a book - must cover a multitude of sins from the luke-warm sudsy bath of whatever I read that gets near to Mills & Boon to the this is good, so it must be good to read, but I'm not sure I want to read it now. I got to the latter end of the continuum with LiToC last night. I wanted to read it, but also had a resistance to it, I wanted something more soapy and easy on the reading skin, this one is a bit, not abrasive, but faintly difficult to the touch, like you are running your hand over a plank of wood and can feel the roughness, wary of a splinter that will surely rise up when you least expect it, or dusty rougher portions that don't feel nice to the touch.
Images from yesterday - the three bodies floating down the stream, one of them a girl, and their contamination of Armino's infatuation with Fremina. And then of course, amidst the confining on the boat, the image of him being grabbed and rode to orgasm in a dark sweaty cabin, before being ejected without identifying who it was he fucked - or who fucked him more to the point. A good image for the solace of sexual release - "Sex without love may be an empty pleasure, but as empty pleasures go..." - Woody Allen (Love & Death).
An aside. That's weird - the Google blogger spellchecker has "fucked" in its dictionary, but not "luke" as in luke warm. Why?? What happened to "luke". Beginning to suspect a bit of early onset here - maybe I'm wrong and it is spelt completely differently - nah, Word knows all about "luke".
So he gets there - this long journey up the river and decides to return immediately. It's like watching one of those TV series where you just know the character is going to do the wrong thing anyway and fuck it all up again, so an air of inevitability here.
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