I love her. Her pictures make my day better, and make me dress better. She makes me want to get out and do something. Visit a museum, take lessons, travel, enjoy the neighborhood. I LOVE her books.
Her curiosity is... I don't know... delightful! I think she's so great because she doesn't present herself as some lofty intellectual who is just too well-read and well-educated for you - she writes like a human being. A smart human being, but still definitely human. She can still be inspired by things. Admire people. She seems humble, I guess.
I hate reading books - popular books of literary criticism in particular - where the author won't come out and tell you that they like something. I like gushing! I like hearing that people like the authors I like! Like, a lot! (Mom, that's why I thought The Magician's Book was so great. Now you know.) Blah blah, books about books are supposed to be dry and precise - but literature seems such an imprecise art to me! I will never agree that this or that novel is the best on earth - never. Because, at root, the person asserting that Moby Dick is the best ever is still at least a teensy bit biased because they liked it. Now, if I said that Moby Dick is the best novel ever you could believe it because I hated Moby Dick.
SO! I'm sorry I'm so dithery and distracted. I'm about to go for a swim and I just got home from work and I got a new dress this afternoon (I'm wearing it over my jeans right now) and the Kooks are playing in the background, so focus is a little on the short side this fine day.
CONCLUSION: I need to check out Spinoza and De Tocqueville. Spinoza because this is the second book of hers I've read that mentions him, and De Tocqueville because I read about him again today in the intro to The Crucible, and two times is too much of a coincidence. I LOVE MAIRA I LOVE MAIRA.
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