Last night, as I was waiting for the subway at Glencairn, pages xvii to xxiv of Marilyn Butler's excellent introduction to Mansfield Park fell out of my book and scattered themselves on the platform.
I think it may finally be time to replace that book.
I love that book. I can almost precisely date its acquisition — September, 1998. I gave my first university-level lecture on that book, wrote my M.A. on it. My first (and only) academic conference paper was on interiority in Mansfield Park and Jane Eyre. It was a good book. Just not, I guess, very sturdy.
I think I was lucky that that was yesterday, and not today. At least the platform was dry.
I thought about taking the camera in to work today to document the first winter storm of the season, but decided against it as the snow wasn't pretty — icy and partially melted, the opposite of powder. And then it was raining heavily when I finally made it in to work, so most of the snow is gone anyhow. I'm glad it's warm, I hate the cold, but I think I'd have more respect for the season if it were actually winter. Right now it's just indecisive.
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