So I’m reading this book, The Loser, by Thomas Bernhard. It’s about potential and not living up to it. It is one paragraph long. The paragraph lasts 170 pages. I’m enjoying it. I’m reading the book because Cary Tennis advised someone else to read it in one of his advice columns, and I like to follow Cary Tennis’s advice whenever I think it might be relevant to me. I read Cary Tennis because a tasteful friend (Melissa) recommended it. On the light rail I read the book. I read as I’m walking from the station to work.* I’m enjoying the book. There’s this Howard Roark-esque character in it named Glenn Gould. I think the name is familiar, but then I think I’m just reminded of a professor I never had or even met whose surname is also Gould. Anyway, I get to work, turn on the computer, settle in, and check my Google Reader account.
On Goodbye, Blue Monday, the blog I read that previously revealed a strange synchronistic connection with the world, there is a post: a Bach concerto “by the one and only Glenn Gould.” The one and only fictional Glenn Gould? I quickly Google the name. He was real. Crazy.
Here’s some Glenn Gould for you, recommended by Goodbye, Blue Monday:
*One of my most favorite professors used to go to the gym and walk briskly on the treadmill, book in one hand, other hand swinging. She’d switch hands depending on whether she was reading a recto or verso page (can you use those words in reference to any book, or only when you’re talking about manuscripts? I’ve been cataloging too many manuscripts lately)… Anyway, she inspired me in many ways, but perhaps the most lasting inspiration was to read while walking.