Edward Said

I started a book on the train tonight. "On Late Style."

The late Edward Said? His last book? Why'd you pick that one? Not an easy read for the ride home.

The title intrigued me.

Juxtapositions again? Late and style? What does it mean?

Something about how a writer or a musician treats their material when they know they're going to die.

There's no time left so they need to hurry to finish their life's work?

Time's running out, yes. But there's also the pulling everything together. The synthesis.

Tidying up? Summarising? Concluding?

He touches on Beethoven, Glenn Gould, some achieve a serene harmony. Others, like Ibsen, get angry or confuse us.

Like Monet's muddy waterlilies?

Said was one who stayed serene. His illness focused his writing. It's a good read.
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