I find myself tonight reading Sophocles. (You will have begun to realize that the Reading List idea isn't working out.)
I just discovered that Aeschylus added a second actor to the traditional Greek theater. Hitherto, apparently, there had been only one actor and a chorus. I'm sure he found he could write much better dialog that way.
And Sophocles then added a third and a fourth actor. And costumes! Amazing.
Well, back to "Oedipus." (This isn't going to turn out well. I just know it.)
I subscribe to the Library of America which sends me a volume every couple of months. In the mail the other day I got Edmund Wilson's Literary Essays and Reviews of the 1920s & 30s, which includes Shores of Light and Axel's Castle. It went immediately onto my reading list.
I wasn't counting on this when I made up the list. Usually I put the LoA books as they arrive onto the shelf with the others and tell myself I'll read them "someday." But Edmund Wilson on Willa Cather? On Fitzgerald and Poe? On Yeats, Joyce, and Proust? This is not to be resisted.
And so another lengthy tome - 958 pages - is added to the reading list. And if you think that as I read Wilson I will be able to resist hustling off to re-read "The Diamond as Big as the Ritz" or My Antonia you haven't been reading my blog. And so my reading remains out of control.