The Measure Of My Days, Florida Scott-Maxwell

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So, reading this for my book group. It’s not my usual reading material: non-fiction, no plot or chronology, written by an eighty-two year-old playwright and Jungian psychologist.

It’s not an autobiography, not even a memoir. It is, according to itself, a notebook containing her observations on age and on society. Rambling. Unstructured. Containing a lifetime of knowledge, experience and opinion ruminated upon in the isolation of age.

It’s essentially a blog. And so far we have considered the nature of evil, humanity and age.

As an example, I’ll leave this snippet which I found quite moving.

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