Old people and literary types will have heard of Thomas Mann. He was a German author born in 1875. He won the Nobel Prize in literature in the 1920s and he belonged to the Modernist school. Back in the 1970s if you had a high school English teacher who was especially perverse he would assign a book of Mann’s called “Death in Venice and Other Stories.” Now the title story “Death in Venice,” is vile. It’s the story of an old German writer who has a premonition of death and goes to Venice to feel young again. He has an infatuation verging on pedophilia for an adolescent boy that mercifully goes unfulfilled and then to the reader’s great relief the protagonist dies. The only legitimate reason to read this story is for law enforcement profilers to gain a better understanding of pedophile motivation.
One of the other stories in the book is called “A Man and His Dog.” It is autobiographical and describes Mann’s life in a suburban/rural area of Germany. He chronicles the walks he takes with his approximately German Shorthaired Pointer dog Bashan. We hear about the landscape, the flora and fauna and the farmland occupants of his little world. It is without a doubt, the best thing in the story collection and I’ve always envied his opportunity to share a slice of his world and life in such a congenial narrative. It really is a pleasure to read.
So, even though I keep German Short Haired Pointers, I can’t do what Mann did. I don’t have his facility for felicitous phrasing. But I’m a lot funnier than he was. So, from time to time, I’ll address things in a post that have very little to do with politics, photography or science fiction. When that happens, I’ll assign them to the category “photog’s Corner” and that will be a warning sign of irrelevance to the primary foci of this blog. Caveat emptor.