One of my many regrets—and there comes a time in life when regret is almost inseparable from memory itself…
6 responses to “”
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The older I get (I turned 50 a couple weeks back) the more I find that the sentiment expressed by your Daniels quote is accurate.
It’s an interesting piece by him — I’ve often wondered about old neglected books, and whether there’s stuff out there that’s really good, but because the authors are forgotten, we just aren’t aware of it.
There’s a used bookstore in Ohio near Columbus that has a large shelf of “old” fiction from the late 19th and early 20th century by popular writers of that time, the vast majority of whom I’ve never heard. I’ve often thought of buying a couple that look interesting (they’re generally quite inexpensive) just to give them a go.
I imagine that most of it is ephemeral, sentimental junk (just like most of today’s popular fiction is), but who knows if there might be a few gems in there? -
I don’t know if anyone else noticed it, but as I originally posted it, that quote was nonsense, replacing the word “regret” with “memory.” The fact that I was fighting a cat for control of my keyboard at the time probably had something to do with it. It sat there that way for several days before Rob pointed it out to me.
I strongly suspect that there’s a lot of good stuff out there, perhaps not totally forgotten, but neglected. I have the same impulse about old fiction (and other books), partly rooted in some sort of nostalgia. I bought a book by Mary Roberts Rinehart some time ago, because I liked the cover. It’s not very good but it’s sort of fascinating as a period piece (wealthy early 20th C East Coasters).
A slightly different case, definitely not forgotten but maybe neglected, is Phyllis McGinley. I found an old collection of her poems some years ago, and there’s a lot of wonderful stuff in it. I keep meaning to write about it. -
That explains it. Cats are inimical to the concept of regret.
AMDG -
I did notice that on Friday.
AMDG -
One writer whose name I run into off and on is Ralph Connor. I haven’t looked him up but I get the impression that he wrote Westerns, pioneer adventures, etc., from a vaguely Christian viewpoint. I doubt that it’s great literature in any sense, but it might be entertaining. I often see a novel of his called “The Prospector.” Must’ve been some sort of a best-seller back in the day for so many copies to still be floating around.
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Sounds like fun. Seems like I never have time to read just for fun.
Light On Dark Water 
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