My friend D and I surprised each other with presents the other day. I brought him Philippe Herreweghe's rendition of Bach's Easter Oratorio, because a few years ago I'd made D a copy of the Advent Cantatas and he said he'd listened to them every day - and, of course, because Easter is coming up. (If you don't know Herreweghe's Bach you should.)
D, in turn, produced a present for me called Production of Presence: What Meaning Cannot Convey, a book by a Bavarian literary critic (now at Stanford) named Hans Ulrich Gumbrecht. I've read about half of it (it's a slim book) and am shouting halleluias. It's wise, a delight to read, and manages to do what its subtitle promises! I'd quote something for you but wouldn't know where to stop. Where would we be without friends?
