Saturday 25 June 1994

Virginia lent me Peter Carey's The Tax Inspector weeks ago and I've only just got around to reading it. Started this morning. Finished tonight. I couldn't put it down. Was fascinated.

But once I'd finished it I felt depressed. A rusty taste behind my bottom front teeth, a prickly feeling in my veins.

Maybe it was the violence. Maybe my expectations. Perhaps I didn't need to read a book about despair right now.