Job

I've been reading actual books over the past week or so. I used to read the things all the time, one after another, but eventually I got burned out on them. Then I started spending all my free time online reading those damnable blog things. Well, now I'm back to the volumes made from dead trees. First it was my Oulipo Compendium, then Caradec's Raymond Roussel biography, then Roussel's odd play Dust of Suns, and now I'm reading Apollinare's Amorous Exploits of a Young Rakehell, a very short pornographic novel he wrote for money in 1907 thereabouts.

The thing about the Apollinare book that most struck me is the biographical piece on him printed inside. He wrote this novel while working as "curator of forbidden books at the Bibliotheque Nationale in Paris". That's my dream job right there: curator of forbidden books.