Saturday, July 09, 2005


I just bought a book by Heinrich Böll in translation. I was showing it to L, and she said she did not want to read it. I made a snarky comment about how he *is* an important author, so maybe she could bother herself to read him. L’s reply was that there were lots of important writers I did not read. For instance, could I name a book by Brontë? I promptly said “Wuthering Heights.” Score one for the good guys. Turns out that was Emily Brontë, and L meant Charlotte Brontë.

So, I decide to take a shot at it. I spin the mental Rolodex and remember that I have always been struck by the name of one of the characters in a Brontë book. So, I proudly say “Garfield.” L’s eyes get big, and she says “What?” I am still playing it cool, so I say “Wasn’t there a character named Garfield?”

L bursts out laughing and says that the character in Wuthering Heights is Heathcliffe, not Garfield, and that I had the wrong cartoon cat. End of cool.


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