I think I may go back and finish three books that I started and abandoned. Henry Jame's The Portrait of a Lady, Gogol's Dead Souls and Balzac's Euegenie Grandet. I owe it to James and Gogol to finish their masterpieces and I owe it to Balzac who's never led me astray in the past. But the clouds seem to have parted and the sun is making itself felt now so I don't know how much reading I'll get done tonight. Tonight may be more apt for dreaming instead of reading, but I have Saramago to near my side. And though it's not nearly as interesting as The History of the Siege of Lisbon or Blindness, Double still has enough of Saramago's supreme language to maintain my enthusiasm. It's six o'clock Sunday and I'm going to enjoy the rest of the day.