Hey SavMarshMama Krewe
CreoleBeBebop here
I'm reading Don Quixote for the umpteenth time. Reading a translation by Edith Grossman. Why, some may ask, are you reading that fucking tome? Why indeed? Here are several reasons:
- I was intellectually abused by Carmelite monks when I was an impressionable high school student. They thought the sun rose and set in the Western canon, and M. Cervantes was its high priest.
- It contains the plots and subplots, along with Billy Shakespeare, of every masterpiece of Western fiction since.
- I agreed to read it periodically because one of my sons (The Doc) does the same, and he's super fucking smart.
- I like that Don Quixote gets his ass handed to him throughout the book, but keeps on trucking. Voltaire's Pangloss in Candide comes close to getting this number of mind-numbing ass-kickings. And he says, "That is all for the best in this best of all possible worlds." What a fucking Shmoo. I see you fucking MAGA bitches.
- I want to disprove the literary worth of the son-of-a-bitch each time I read it, but can't for the life of me.