gangleri2001
Garbage day!!!
The game I'm currently playing made me finally read this:

...in front of which a little girl with reddish hair was playing with a shuttlecock; when, from the path, another little girl, who was putting on her cloak and covering up her battledore, called out sharply: "Good-bye, Gilberte, I'm going home now; don't forget, we're coming to you this evening, after dinner." The name Gilberte passed close by me, evoking all the more forcibly her whom it labelled in that it did not merely refer to her, as one speaks of a man in his absence, but was directly addressed to her; it passed thus close by me, in action, so to speak, with a force that increased with the curve of its trajectory and as it drew near to its target;—carrying in its wake, I could feel, the knowledge, the impression of her to whom it was addressed that belonged not to me but to the friend who called to her, everything that, while she uttered the words, she more or less vividly reviewed, possessed in her memory, of their daily intimacy, of the visits that they paid to each other, of that unknown existence which was all the more inaccessible, all the more painful to me from being, conversely, so familiar, so tractable to this happy girl who let her message brush past me without my being able to penetrate its surface, who flung it on the air with a light-hearted cry: letting float in the atmosphere the delicious attar which that message had distilled, by touching them with precision, from certain invisible points in Mlle. Swann's life, from the evening to come, as it would be, after dinner, at her home,—forming, on its celestial passage through the midst of the children and their nursemaids, a little cloud, exquisitely coloured, like the cloud that, curling over one of Poussin's gardens, reflects minutely, like a cloud in the opera, teeming with chariots and horses, some apparition of the life of the gods; casting, finally, on that ragged grass, at the spot on which she stood (at once a scrap of withered lawn and a moment in the afternoon of the fair player, who continued to beat up and catch her shuttlecock until a governess, with a blue feather in her hat, had called her away) a marvellous little band of light, of the colour of heliotrope, spread over the lawn like a carpet on which I could not tire of treading to and fro with lingering feet, nostalgic and profane, while Françoise shouted: "Come on, button up your coat, look, and let's get away!" and I remarked for the first time how common her speech was, and that she had, alas, no blue feather in her hat.
Shogun first published in1975. I read it back then and loved it but most of it I have forgotten. The most recent TV series made me want to read it again. My library has a new hardback edition that I've had on hold for months. Picked it up yesterday. 1300 pages; five pounds of paper. In 1975 global travel was an oddity and fewer people new much about Japan or its history. To make his story work and be understandable, Clavell went into great detail about the history and culture of Japan in 1600. Details known by many today but which would have been foreign to readers 50 years ago. There is so much more in the book than was or can de depicted in a short series. Lots of the story condensed but much of the show dialogue is right out of the book. To do the book justice the show would have to be more like GOT, with multiple seasons and a bigger budget.
Not suitable for antheads and other specials ^^The game I'm currently playing made me finally read this:
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My poor anthead and/or chickenhead brain is still trying to get itself over the fact that...Not suitable for antheads and other specials ^^