If nothing else, we can keep devouring books at an unmanageable rate.
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Headley’s Beowulf is one Beowulf among many, and in many ways, it’s a translator’s translation, a translation not only of the Old English text but of many other English-language translations. And that makes it not only good, but interesting.
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The work continues, and we try to make things better where we can — and when we can’t do that, we distract ourselves!
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Within the Context of No Context essentially read like the I Ching with anger management problems. It’s an abstract text: I’m beginning to think it best to read it more like a map than a book. It’s a work of genius and madness. Possibly, it’s the last great work of bourgeois philosophy.
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In an attempt to understand the world as it is, teetering on the brink of environmental collapse and under a constant barrage of information, the rogues’ gallery Sandifer portrays, along with their many followers, have instead chosen death.
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