Leyendo, Siempre Leyendo

Slogging grimly on through the Paradiso (what I hate, hate, hate, in literature written before the Enlightenment and after the Great Oath that everybody swore in the late Fourth Century to believe only in Christianity,  is how much was "known" that was just not so), I have now also with me several books in Spanish (I just discovered that there's a Spanish section at the library):  a collection of recent Mexican short stories, a poignant memoir of Chile's plunge into horror under Pinochet,  a history of the "Surge" in Iraq (Bajo las Bombas), and Seymour Hersh's The Chain of Command (Obediencia Debida): The Road from 9/11 to Abu Ghraib.  All of which I'm taking to the beach on the bus with me this afternoon, and will read in sequence, one after another, till the tears in my eyes make me stop.