Maybe there is something about Bruno Kremer's Simenon's Maigret having to do with his slowness, his bulk, his time taken, the way in the i hour and 45 minutes, you meet all these people, take your own time reacting to them, then, in the last, say, 20 minutes, he wraps it all up, surprisingly every time, about a detail.. His explosions of temper, loud and brief shouting. And.then he walks slowly away, down a road bordered with trees. Today with was a ring, the other day it was a button, always an object which leads to the proof. then ..I am thinking why couldn't we write something so continuously interesting, with a pattern to it...
It all comes up again because we were talking yesterday, under the vines and overlooking the field, about the just now BBC recording of great actors reading Shakespeare sonnets. One of anything is less involving than more of it: soaps, mystery stories with one detective, a continuing figure. Carolyn Heilbrun's Amanda Cross's martinis, and her smartness, and how much more fun to read about one damned smart person than a bunch, all different. unless of course it is Bourbaki or some group under one name...
It all comes up again because we were talking yesterday, under the vines and overlooking the field, about the just now BBC recording of great actors reading Shakespeare sonnets. One of anything is less involving than more of it: soaps, mystery stories with one detective, a continuing figure. Carolyn Heilbrun's Amanda Cross's martinis, and her smartness, and how much more fun to read about one damned smart person than a bunch, all different. unless of course it is Bourbaki or some group under one name...
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