Went out to the hills with friends this weekend, wandered back into the woods, slipped on ice, dripped red blood all over the nice white snow, and ended up with stitches over my right eyebrow. Now I look like a goon, and I very much hope that the swelling goes down before class tomorrow.
My friend Brendan (who is quite a talented writer) is making his way through the novels of Robertson Davies, and he seems to be enjoying them as much as I did. Our conversations this weekend reminded me of the ways in which Mr. Davies's books changed the course of my thinking. Here's to a writer with a real vision of the deep comedy in the world, and to my favorite of his characters: poor Hector Mackilwraith.
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