Status Updates From Billy Budd, Sailor and Othe...

Melville’s prose is heaven, swooning.

Billy Budd slips from ode to courtroom drama to a third place, the flattening of people and their history via art and subjective carelessness. The further Melville backs away, seeking an objective view, the muddier and more tragic it becomes. Time becomes myth, then is forgotten. The most Kiarostami-coded piece of written fiction I’ve found.

Piazza is clean, melancholy.

"What are you knotting there, my man"? "the knot" "so it seems; but what is it for?" "for some one else to undo" peak conversation

"this is to be wondered at. Yet not so much to be wondered at." so true

"his brow was of the sort phrenologically associated with more than average intellect" niesamowity opis

Nice book

Good book