Puzzled

Monday, December 24th., Chiltern Court, London.

Out walking this morning. Sunny day, but not clear. Misty, creating a dense atmosphere and suppressing sounds. Experienced a unique trick of light. Beams of sunlight were coming through trees and were clearly visible in the moist air. Then I noticed that they were being reflected off a stretch of water next to me and the reflected rays also were visible going back up into the sky. I have never seen this before. A rather dramatic effect.

I have now finished reading Golding's sea trilogy "The Ends of the Earth". I don't feel it is as good as its reputation suggests. Some of the writing sparkles, and the idea is good but, for me, it is rather uneven in execution. No doubt the voyage is intended as a metaphor for the central character's growth towards maturity, as signalled in the title of the first volume: "Rites of Passage". Edmund Talbot is a self-centred, opinionated, spoilt, and generally unpleasant young man who acquires some semblance of self-awareness (even humility) as the voyage progresses. But for me the whole thing is over-contrived and over-extended. What is the function of the parson Colley who is humiliated and dies in the first book? Why is a love-interest introduced for Talbot? What is the point of the dramatic escape from collision with an iceberg, apart from a certain amount of virtuoso writing? I wonder if Golding originally intended only the first part but found that his central character had made insufficient progress? The whole thing I find to be a puzzle at present. Perhaps it will become more clear with additional thought.

Speaking of puzzles I have been given a book of puzzles as a present and am so far making little progress with them. No doubt there is a particular set of mind necessary. I fear that I no longer have the flexibility of thought to be successful, which is annoying and rather dispiriting.

Making a change

Sunday, December 20th., Rue de Calais, Paris.

Yesterday I finished the second chapter of "A Great Man".

I went to Cook's in the morning and began the business of departing to England by drawing out all the money I could and getting my ticket. The clerk asked me if I was going home for Christmas and I said I was, but am I? He wished me a happy Christmas.

At night I didn't feel very hungry so I had to tempt myself with a 'nice little dinner' at Sylvain's, which cost me 6 francs. Then I came home (there's that word again!), played Beethoven's two Sonatas op. 49, perfectly charming, finished reading Le Temps all through, and went to bed at 10.30. Read in bed for half an hour or so - Golding's sea trilogy; I have just started the third part; not quite sure about it. I slept until 8.10 this morning, which is good.  

I have seen a lot of Chichi lately. We dined at the Hippo. Restaurant on Friday and then to Bostocks. The restaurant seemed to be full of dancers and ex-dancers. C. doesn't seem distressed about my going back to England. No doubt she will have other 'company' in prospect while I am away. Not sure how I feel about that. In a way I will be glad to make a change, even if only temporary. I am one of those people who, whatever their situation, are always inclined to think that they would like to move on to something else. Perhaps most people are like that, at least men, but we can't admit it.