One is Erasure, by Perceval Everett, the novel the movie American Fiction is based on. Everett is a graceful and witty writer, and so far the book is entertaining in the tradition of literary parodies like Stella Gibbons’ Cold Comfort Farm and Charles Simmons’ The Belles Lettres Papers. More like the latter, actually, because Everett skewers, not just fashionably bad prose, but the pretensions of the current literary establishment.
The other book I’m reading — slowly — is Alberto Angela’s tre giorni di Pompeii. I could find no English editions, or even one in French, which I could manage on my own, so I am chipping my way through it by dint of Kindle’s Bing translator. Which is why I am reading it at bedtime, when I want something that will make my eyelids heavy after ten minutes.
Erasure I am enjoying in the form of an actual book, one that doesn’t require occasional recharging. Now that I’ve retired, I’ve rediscovered my old pleasure of reading books in cafes. San Francisco has lots of those, and every afternoon I’m trying one out. Thursday it was Saint Frank’s (decaf) on Polk Street. Very bright, very clean, good coffee. I was the oldest person there, and the only one reading something that had a cover and actual pages. Everything in Saint Frank’s seemed white and smooth, the floor, the walls, the air… The smooth white counter is near the front, part of the decor, so you can watch the smooth, white young barista make your coffee with the smooth white equipment. All the other customers there were, if not white, then smooth, young and pretty and staring at screens. I felt like I was in a Kubrick movie.
Royal Grounds (short cafe au lait), on Friday, seemed older in every sense. Dark, small and a bit cluttered, the counter shoved into the back instead of proudly displayed as part of the decor in the front. At least one other customer, in her twenties, had a book open, even though it looked like college textbook and she was consulting it in between typing into a device. Another customer was a gray, slightly frayed Asian gentleman who looked to be in his fifties, scowling at the screen of his laptop.
This afternoon, I’ll try to track down a cafe that serves wine by the glass. North Beach is my best bet.
Pam Troy 