Forthcoming Books I am Looking Forward to Reading

It seems like mere moments, but in fact it’s been nine months since my last post listing the forthcoming books I was looking forward to reading. In most cases the books on that last list were acquired, though I’ve read only four of the nineteen listed, though remain interested in reading the others. This year I’m acquiring fewer books, but the following are mostly irresistible:

  1. Antonio Negri, Spinoza: Then and Now
  2. Michel Houellebecq, Serotonin
  3. Denise Riley, Time Lived, Without Its Flow
  4. Rachel Mann, A Kingdom of Love
  5. Sergio Chejfec, The Incompletes
  6. Yiyun Li, Must I Go
  7. Karl Ole Knausgaard, In the Land of the Cyclops
  8. Naomi Klein, On Fire: The Burning Case for a New Green Deal
  9. Fanny Howe, Love and I
  10. J. M. Coetzee, The Death of Jesus
  11. Roberto Calasso, The Celestial Hunter
  12. Vivian Gornick, Unfinished Business: Notes of a Chronic Re-Reader
  13. Theodor W. Adorno, Siegfried Kracauer, Correspondence: 1923-1966
  14. Martin Mittelmeier, Adorno in Naples: The Origins of Critical Theory
  15. Roberto Bazlen, Notes Without a Text [almost given up on this one]
  16. Pierre Hadot, The Selected Writings of Pierre Hadot: Philosophy as Practice
  17. S. D. Chrostowska, The Eyelid

Relegated Areas

20140728-064326-24206140.jpg

For me parks are good when first of all, they’re not impeccable, and when solitude has appropriated them in such a way that solitude itself becomes an emblem, a defining trait for walkers, sporadic at best, who in my opinion should be irrevocably lost or absorbed in thought, and a bit confused, too, as when one walks through a space that’s at once alien and familiar. I don’t know if I should call them abandoned places; what I mean is relegated areas, where the surroundings are suspended for the moment and one can imagine being in any park, anywhere, even at the antipodes. A place that’s cast off, indistinct, or better yet, a place where a person, moved by who knows what kind of distractions, withdraws, turns into a nobody, and ends up being vague.

My Two Worlds
Sergio Chejfec (trans. Margaret B. Carson)