Unadulterated pleasure.

I’m reading a book called Letters between Forster and Isherwood on Homosexuality and Literature, although the title is somewhat misleading, as the content of their letters isn’t at all restricted to those two themes, – mostly it’s just adorable invitations and attempts to meet up and then tragically missing each other, much like life in the twentyfirst century when your mobile phone battery is empty, but with the added tension of impending World War, and the increasing dilemma of how to deal with it on a personal level, both in very abstract and very, very real and specific ways, as in: “My lover is German, how on Earth is that going to work out???”. D:

I’m finding it wonderful and endlessly quotable. I think the personal memories and/or letters of literary people are my favourite thing to read by now, I don’t really know why. Obviously it’s because they’re always incredibly well written and witty, but what has happened to me + novels? I seem to be more and more interested in non-fiction. It’s strange. Is it a growing up thing? Can’t be, right? Adults do read fiction. Am I infested by a sort of high(er)-brow reality TV worm?
Anyway, you must bear with me whenever quotes from there crop up throughout my blog posts in the near future.

T., you must read the book!

“If you happen to be in Greece, please come and call. All you have to do is to get to Chalkis by train, then persuade some farmer to bring you as far as Chalia with his cart, from whence half an hour’s brisk donkey ride will bring you to the shore. From the shore you must shout very loud, and I will come over in a boat and fetch you.” 

Isherwood to Forster, 1933

On an unrelated note, I like these kids: