Showing posts tagged books

What interests me, of course, is the book. I keep wondering what Prospero was reading on that first boat journey. I imagine my father, shadowed and tubercular, profile deepened against water, reading the last poem Shelley had written before he died in Spoleto. Or maybe it was the passage in Melville, in which our archipelago is unnamed but recalled by the beckoning of a black vast sea, between the description of ropes and the listing of harpoons. Or perhaps it had been the tale of his namesake Prospero, a betrayed man on a boat, laden only with books and a child.

From Bibliolepsy by Gina Apostol. (via othersashas)