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I have the utmost respect for people who publish in a foreign language, but here sometimes words seem matched randomly, and entire passages don't make any sense.
It reminds me of the crab-like diplomat in a Culture novel whose speech could only be partially understood by musing on it after a couple of hours, while sleeping on it.
Is a history writer allowed to use cryptic poetic language?

Do they edit books anymore??? The same paragraph on Shakespearian quotes is replicated, nearly verbatim, in two successive chapters.
Also, so many arbitrary assumptions and such blindness to most non-English language literature and literary theory. How can you go on for pages about the eternal identity of all stories and forget to name Pessoa?

There is a great bibliography organised by chapter and sub-themes at the end of this book. Also, it all started with @OEWordhord on social networks. Approaching rabbit hole entrance in 3... 2... 1...

Fumous, with a touch of exaggerated fussing around nothing, and the language is quite poor for Joyce's literary translator... we'll see.

It toom me time to warm to this book. I had, maybe, excessive expectations. I trudged along the first couple of chapters, and I was rewarded with much more fun once I got into yhe slow rythm and I accepted that not all of its explanations and word-hords are interesting to me. Great fun tracing modern words back to their Old English roots, though! Like sēamestre/seamstress, or lœfdyge/the breadmaker/lady!

Oh, how irksome to be reminded every other paragraph that the protagonist is a bibliophile woman, socially awkward, with a loving bookworm father and a mysterious wealthy old intellectual choosing her for some mysterious bookish task just because she is oh so special...
How many novels have I started that have this exact plot?
How many strong-willed, dying old ladies or old gentlemen do live in England, pray explain?

Usually I would find these kind of "impulse-purchase-shelf" books quite dreary. This one is a bright exception, or my watch has stopped XD

For such a famous thinker, to mistake the meaning of Labour Day as a celebration of Total Work sounds like sheer bad faith (pun intended).
Ok, I started reading this with an open mind, but evidently I am too much of a heathen, or he was too much of a reactionary... (hello, 1933 essay where he tried to link National-Socialist politics and the Church's latest & greatest Encyclica...

As an inveterate atheist I respect who can find meaning in their faith; I just won't set aside critical thinking for a leap of faith; history taught us better. Why cannot most Catholic thinkers respect disagreement? Is it my fault if someone CANNOT see the intrinsic value of being human without transcendence?

I like his deep poetic insight into the value of human beings other than their usefulness to the production machine, but the logic gets quite fuzzy when linking dignity to faith and the spiritual value of leisure to worship. His arguments feel like he bult a careful construction until now and then... ooops there are pillars missing all over this storey.

This is one of the first popularisation books about quantum physics I read, that attempts to introduce the public to some of the actual complexity and "uneasiness" of quantum theories.

Finished Leisure the Basis of Culture. Well, it is a powerful indictment of modern totalitarian utilitarianism, but he used some of the worst fuzzy logic I have ever met when trying to tie it all up nicely into the role of worship as the sole vehicle of celebration of human dignity.

I had started this book in full academic thesis madness, and boy was that a mistake. I kept feeling a longing for it in my guts, and now here we are again, now that i have time and brains for it. And boy is it some satisfaction...

Ok, I have mixed feelings about this book, but the titles of the different British papers were spot on 😆😆😆

A nice advertisement of xenophobia on the part of Bree's folks. They don't want any foreigners, they want to be left alone. How quaint and lovable, thinking that borders are drawn by God and that your folks are not the result of mixing. ffs

Eowyn has clearly lacked that strong male presence in her life, eh... One woman needs some vitamin D, therefore she has a death wish, that's why she reclaims a place in the world of her own. Another is a dimwit, totally unaware of the gravity of the moment. Then we have the love interest: invisible, idealised and SILENT, as women shoul be, innit. At least Galadriel makes for some dignity. Indeed she beats it...