The Moonstone

I have left Hans Castorp on the field of battle and have taken the train to England :-) (and further to the subcontinent)

I find The Moonstone very much to my liking.

The mind goes back to so many years ago when through Leyla Neyzi I had met this very clever girl, who was doing God knows what now, at the time, but what I remember is that she had at some point taught English in Malaysia.
We sat in Akmerkez and talked. She had worked on Wilkie Collins and was so enthusiastic about him, telling me I had to read him. I had made a mental note about it, and I had many lives after that, the mental note getting a bit dusty but still stuck there. And then in class in Heidelberg I listened to someone talk about The Woman in White, the mental note was put in relief once again, and at long last, last month I bought The Moonstone on İstiklal Street, and now here I am reading it.

It is very clever so far. It is a book that is the documentary of its own writing. A bit of Tristam Shandy, not quite as preposterous. There are a lot of self-narration references, so I find myself underlining. I could do worse than have a Victorian paper to my name :-)