Reading: The Seed Underground by Janisse Ray (Chelsea Green Publishing)
Drinking: Darjeeling tea while O'Cricket sleeps upstairs
Thinking: My dad and I have started reading all the same books. How and when did this happen? There was a time when I thought he was an old-fogey/ex-hippie whose tastes were too swayed by his lefty politics.
But I've reached a point where I can no longer separate art from its inherent politics, nor art from its writer. I don't want to read bourgeois fiction written by bourgeois writers. I don't want to read about the mundane concerns of the discreet bourgeoisie. I'm more and more drawn to radicals, flaming lefties, revolutionaries and hopeless dreamers convinced there's still time to save the world (and perhaps muddying their art with that conviction).
Which means my dad and I have started liking all the same books, too. We like Janisse Ray. Her lack of pretension, radicalism and pretty sentences. Chelsea Green Publishing is a good thing, too.