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bimoTurning and turning in the widening gyre,
the young woman hunts for a copy of "Doctor Zhivago",
she remembers having seen, about half a year ago,
in her father's living room,
books piling up. The shelves, they cannot hold.
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the house,
and everywhere the ceremony of dustfree-ness
is drowned.
(Sorry for butchering Yeats, but it was too tempting *g*)
Having enjoyed the privelege of watching David Lean's classic epos on the silver screen, together with![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
vashtan and cavendish in one of Germany's largest historical cinemas, I went searching our living room library for the original novel on which the movie is based.
Finally, I discovered Pasternak's Doctor Zhivago in a pile of abandoned books; inherited, hastily stored and soon forgotten, slumbering between two Graham Greenes and a Norman Mailer. The book's whereabouts suggest that it must have belonged to my mother once. However the copy is too obscure, too odd and too damaged and I can't see why my mum, with her keen sense for order and perfection, would have kept it. Only my father's side of the family is chronically unable to throw away things that are strange or seriously impaired.
So, I'm holding a cheap Bertelsmann Book Club edition of Doctor Zhivago which is glued into the cover upside down and has pages sticking together, pages missing, pages torn. Guess, I'm going to read it (at least the parts that can be deciphered)and then put it back on its shelf.
Life is strange.
the young woman hunts for a copy of "Doctor Zhivago",
she remembers having seen, about half a year ago,
in her father's living room,
books piling up. The shelves, they cannot hold.
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the house,
and everywhere the ceremony of dustfree-ness
is drowned.
(Sorry for butchering Yeats, but it was too tempting *g*)
Having enjoyed the privelege of watching David Lean's classic epos on the silver screen, together with
vashtan and cavendish in one of Germany's largest historical cinemas, I went searching our living room library for the original novel on which the movie is based.Finally, I discovered Pasternak's Doctor Zhivago in a pile of abandoned books; inherited, hastily stored and soon forgotten, slumbering between two Graham Greenes and a Norman Mailer. The book's whereabouts suggest that it must have belonged to my mother once. However the copy is too obscure, too odd and too damaged and I can't see why my mum, with her keen sense for order and perfection, would have kept it. Only my father's side of the family is chronically unable to throw away things that are strange or seriously impaired.
So, I'm holding a cheap Bertelsmann Book Club edition of Doctor Zhivago which is glued into the cover upside down and has pages sticking together, pages missing, pages torn. Guess, I'm going to read it (at least the parts that can be deciphered)and then put it back on its shelf.
Life is strange.
