Borel's prose style is easy & conversational, and what starts out feeling like one long overshare winds up being tremendously affecting and wise thoughts on dealing with aging parents, death, and coming to terms with personal responsibility -- the debts we owe others, the hurts we inflict on family, strangers, lovers, and ourselves. Borel's funny, too. Wish I got to know her better when I was doing all those Q bits.
And as an added bonus, you get to learn a bit about wine. How fine.
While the vuvuzelas are still droning, it's nice to read into the context & beauty of The Beautiful Game. I remember so well being in South Africa in 2004 when the Cup was awarded. On the ground in Cape Town less than two days, jetlagged as hell, and suddenly the whole city went BANANAS with joy. It was quite something to see. Then there were the many games of the Euro 2004 tournament that various Scots, English & Africans educated me about during that summer in bars down on the V&A Waterfront. Come match time you couldn't find a soul on the stroll, even with the pleasant winter sun shining down. (The kind of sun that still had the South African girls wearing scarves. Ah. Memories.)So with that kind of recall, it's a pleasure to read John Doyle's new tome about the meaning of soccer -- The World is a Ball. Other books about the game I've found dry, too much process. But Doyle's gift is capturing the moment, and putting you among the joyous, raucous, jubilant people. We all need stories that uplift, these days -- and Doyle's painting of scene after international scene shows the world for the glorious mosaic it can be. That little ball comes with a whole lot of hope that doesn't necessarily translate into kicks and feints & yellow cards. But then again, maybe it doesn't have to.
Anyway, that's what I'm reading in ten minute increments here and there when I'm not a twitter and a-worry. Pick 'em up.
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