SELLING Books? Who'd a thought it?

Yesterday I had two sales: Calling the Circle: The First and Future Culture, and Baudelaire: Poems. The first one I found in the basement, read part of it, cleaned it up to near-new appearance. I bought the Baudelaire a few years ago, read it and remember more of it than I really care to.

Today I sold Shakespeare: The Invention of the Human, by Harold Bloom, a great big fat hardcover book. I have two copies of this, and I can't remember where the second one came from. Bloom is so pigheaded he won't admit there's any doubt about the authorship, but he writes so engagingly that it doesn't seem to matter. Reminds me more of Lily B. Campbell than Bradley. But like Bradley in clinging to illogical statements like ivy to a tree.

I didn't go to the book club meeting yesterday. The library didn't get the book (Bel Canto) for me until Thursday afternoon, although I requested it at least two weeks ago, nearer three. Anyway, I couldn't quit reading it, meeting or not. I didn't take time to call Mable or anybody, and now I feel like I've committed a crime. Misdemeanor, at least.

I've also received a couple more feedbacks from customers in the past few days. Still at 100%. Holding my breath, hoping it will last.