Idealist; one guided by ideals;

I have been reading of late. A lot. I have been reading a lot of late. And it has been wonderful. Like a reformed addict jumping gleefully off the wagon into the oft-remembered embrace of his dark mistress, I have begun devouring books at a rate of knots, fiction and non-fiction alike.

I have evinced the efficient London Underground for the ambling rambling bus service, happy in the extra 45 minutes it allows me for my quiet, book-bound meditations.

In the course of my narrative journeys I have discovered that the relationship between reading and music is intricate, symbiotic and at times even antagonistic. There are some strains of music, some artists, some genres that seem to augment and compliment a text, and others that exist in such discord to the text’s meaning as to induce mockery and disbelief in the reader.

I have discovered, to my immense joy, that a dash of Prog-Rock goes down well with a dose of Magic Realism. Milan Kundera’s The Unbearable Lightness Of Being sings a perfect duet with Mogwai’s Happy Music For Happy People. Like strawberries with champagne, I sup indulgently, sinking ever further into the rediscovered charms of narrative’s caress.