Beginning, end, and middle

Here we are, fast approaching the end of another year, in the middle of an incomprehensible political muddle, and at the beginning of winter.  Normally at this time I have built up a pile of books in preparation for my annual hibernation - when on the whole all I do is read with no guilt.
This year is different.  Partly that is because the thus-far guilt felt when just sitting reading is at last diminishing.  But I suspect the farce that is Brexit is an insidious infection corrupting all relaxation of thinking.  I find it difficult to decide on a pile of thought provoking books to enjoy.  It has been easier to come up with images of women reading than to decide what I myself want to read.

I am disturbed that so many folks seem to respond negatively and loudly, to dismiss with scorn rather than inquire and perhaps consider adjusting their opinions.  This feels like an Age of Endarkenment, and I find it profoundly disturbing.
So I'm hoping that once winter has passed into spring, a more positive light will emerge.  Meantime, starting with one book at a time, I have turned to memories of my optimistic youth when I was a teenage existentialist, finally reading Sarah Bakewell's At the Existentialist Cafe which has been waiting on my shelf for a year - escapism, just as much as any Golden Era whodunnit!

Talking of which latter, I have recently been enjoying the Shedunnit podcasts.