In the brand newest of new plotki inventions, we have launched the traveling books section. You might have heard of people who leave their books for better paint days on a park bench in, say, Vladivostok. We do things differently: We actually give them to people who will read them, they do the same, and as the book passes from hand to hand and from one location to another, you can trace its movements and read the commentaries. It is like a snow-ball effect in terms of book reviews – The Travelogue of a book.
Watch out for our monthly updates. In the meantime
continue onwards to the first trip in progress…
Travelling book review
John Barth „The last voyage of Somebody the Sailor”
Station 1: Justin Hyatt (read in Budapest, Hungary)
I have forgotten the words John Barth and author and book and I went straight away sailing. Together with Sinbad and Simon and Bey-el-Loor and Jayda the great Cairene, I was there in the tub of truth, I was scared shitless when all the rocs and giant diamonds came thundering down as harbingers of the widespread demise of our sailor’s whatevereth voyage to distant realms, but not quite Serendib.
I wouldn’t like to make any literary or other references to Serendib, but if you travel hereabouts you quickly realize that while it is up to you to intersperse, detangle or somehow finagle with all of the adventuring, Serendib is something that you want.
You want it badly and perhaps in a back room or on an ill-lit street I can tell you some more or give you my watch. But a good thing isn’t always best shouted out. However, not a bad place to start seeing your reality turn to bliss is when you stumble through the right
shop door and end up in jma el fnaa and you get just that bit closer…
Or a bit further away? While deep yearnings and strange space might be fitting bywords here, I was quite tightly wrapped up in a real story that had me more than mesmerized and wiping the seafoam from my mouth just as often as I híd in a rolled-up carpet at the newest evocations of yalla resounding throughout Baghdad. Yet it was in al-Basra that I found myself quite often at cross-roads: a good starting-point for shaking off all that land-lubbing that got too much for both Sinbad the Sailor and Simon Baylor.
Now that things have quieted down a bit, I would have indeed become a real land-lubber had I not, with a wholesome spirit of let’s recycle ad infinitum, managed to find a few extra deck hands who are keeping the whole boat afloat.
Now we can safely assume that it is out of my hands.
Next Station (2): Evgenia Tasheva Sofia, Bulgaria