Back on the clotheshorse

I woke up this morning thinking that "clotheshorse" is a wonderful name for the object that it is. And that I need to get back to working on translations.

And then I began to make a list of things I've missed.

One. The entire "Richard Pevear and Larissa Volkhonsky Take On New York" tour. I think they spoke fifty times and I couldn't make a one. Two. Last night, Natasha Wimmer, the translator of The Savage Detectives, spoke at Columbia with Esther Allen, which I discovered two-and-a-half hours after the fact. Three. Chad Post's brilliant new career. Well, not missed it so much as came way late to the game.

This, however, THIS I will not miss. Because, at the end of the day, when the fiery urge to juggle sentences dies down and the brain is lethargic from puzzling, what am I, really, but just another character in a William Gibson novel?

Or just a tired old clotheshorse in search of more monotone clothes. And a brushed wool hippo.

© Zan McQuade. All rights reserved.