This was damn illuminating if remarkably heartbreaking. Back as an undergrad I was deeply heartbroken by the parting of ways between Sartre and Camus. Oh I lamented it , began to explore political nuance and was still largely oblivious to the multitude of being an adult. I think about my sorrows 25 years after the fact.

These are Modernist titans. I still burdens to ponder how they diverged. Biographies had illuminated the arcs but it is the intimate exchanges here which allow one to lapse and consider. Pound was working as Yeats' secretary and broached Joyce for samplings of his verse. This continues as Joyce establishes himself through Dubliners and Portrait. Throughout Pound is tireless in searching for grants and publishing opportunities. Then during the Great War Pound began editing sections of Ulysses. Rifts began to appear and then both men relocated to Paris. Matters dimmed. Pound appeared restless in most endeavors, finding the appeal of economics and chamber music while allowing his literary opinions to perhaps calcify. He wanted a sequel to Ulysses, not the Wake. Anecdotally the last meeting between them occurred when Joyce asked Hemingway to accompany him to dinner where Papa said Pound spoke erratically.

This is likely my last book of 2017 and one that might just prompt a Joyce/Pound project for the new year. ( )