Every few years I re-read Colin Wilson. This morning I began another reading of his novel, THE GLASS CAGE. And, as always happens when I read this novel, it instills within me an ache to pull out my William Blake and return to ye poetry and biographies. I've just gone to Amazon and order'd a biography I've never seen--ETERNITY'S SUNRISE: THE IMAGINATIVE WORLD OF WILLIAM BLAKE, by Leo Damrosch, publish'd just last year. Wilson's crime novel seems extremely literary, and that is one reason I find it so irresistible--I adore books that are written by people who love Literature as much as I do. Of course, this flimsy paperback edition is a tatter'd old thing, and so I have just order'd a 2nd-hand hardcover copy, & will put off my return to ye novel until that edition arrives. Crime fiction, especially British mysteries, are perhaps my favourite kind of fiction. Although I cannot write anything but horror, I never actually read horror fiction, moft of which I find deadly dull.
Books are Life--literally. I think that's why my very best friends are almoft all writers or editors. I have very little interest in ye cinema, rarely watch telly, and can usually be found in my cozy armchair with a book in one hand and a cup of mild coffee (French Vanilla Cafe) in ye other. 'Tis a good life, aye.