For someone who is literate, I've really read very little in my life. And read a lot of it late, to boot.
The other night, passing a book store's dollar-rack, I perused it and picked up 'The Education of Henry Adams', and am enjoying it. I hasten to add that I have but begun it; as usual, I have about five different books in play; but I carry it with me daily.
His encounters and discoveries mirror mine in a significant way, in that he finds himself ever erroneous in his expectations, and finds all his education in astonishments, reversals, and dismay. To that degree, I am continually heartened as he relates the twists and turns of his 19th century upper-crust career.
(More later.)
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