Except it didn't. At 10:45 I reluctantly closed the book, after one-more-chaptering four or five times, and forced myself to turn out the light.
This morning, I'm annoyed I have to be at the day job. I want to go home and read my book. Dammit. (!)
Darn you, Constance Brown Kuriyama. Darn you to heck!
[For those of you who are new to this blog, I'm obsessed with Renaissance English poets and Renaissance English spies, and the intersection of the two. The Kuriyama book (Christopher Marlowe: A Renaissance Life) is one of many more-or-less sensationalistic biographies revolving around the JFK assassination conspiracy theory of English Lit, which is to say, the career and death of Christofer Marley, poet, loudmouth, and possibly sodomite, sorcerer, and/or spy. This would be the Single Bullet Theory of the lot. Short form of the argument: "He was a nice boy until he went Hollywood."]
Anyway, it's a fascinating book, very well and cogently written, and she makes a strong argument. And it's worth the price of admission just to watch her take Nicholl off at the knees, smiling sweetly all the while. I think she's glossing some of evidence-in-favor-of-the-spy-theory to strengthen her own argument, and I understand why. (1) the spy theory is glamorous (Oh! The Glamour!) and gets all the attention. And she trails off into textual analysis a couple of times... but it's in an attempt to analyze Kit's state of mind rather than prove who he was screwing or what venereal diseases he may have had, so I'm not even going to bitch about it a little. This is, in many ways, the book I wanted the Greenblatt book to be, only about a different guy.
In other news, shop Guy Fawkes.