James Franco reading in the bed for the Paris Review
Reading Dyer:
Right now, before I took this snap off my phone, I had to put down the book. And float around in a reverie, not because what I read was new to me but because someone somewhere unbeknownst to me had articulated something that I had long felt and had thought was almost unable to be perceived by another human being.
It is that feeling, remember when you have to stop reading because you are so overwhelmed that all the words read exactly how you felt ? Remember that in a middle of a conversation with a woman that you have gotten to know you realise you have fallen in love with her- love - as not the erotic sexual love, not the love that comes by companionship, not the love that desires for marriage or relationship but love, the love that you know you will love this woman forever and forever no matter what happens to you or her and between you both, all because of that particular moment that will never leave your memory. Know that moment? Yes, that moment- so intimate and unique - that’s why reading Dyer is like reading aspects of my own life. Not refreshing, but reaffirming.
Reading Batuman at Robin Hood’s bay, Yorkshire. Perfect Sunday.
Current reading: Flitting between two different authors - the sober, whimsy tongue in cheek Geoff Dyer and energetic, airy, delightful Elif Batuman
