The Dussmann Kultur-Kaufhaus has a magnificent classical music selection at insupportable prices; but I did shell out for a couple recordings of Yevgeny Mravinsky conducting the Leningrad Philharmonic (Brahms Nos. 3 and 4, Shostakovich No. 8), which don't seem to have made it to the States. I think that records on Melodiya actually have less American distribution today than during the Cold War—so there's the capitalist world-system for you. Anyway, J. is at school and Brahms is keeping me company while the rain is keeping me indoors, because in order to make room for the 98422489 books I've bought so far in Germany I didn't pack a raincoat.
For a few days J. and I were entirely serious about the idea of moving here for a couple of years. It made perfect sense; she could get a master’s in Germanistik, I could get at least a year’s funding and write my dissertation without anyone bothering me. (The Philologische Bibliothek at the Freie Universität has an entirely respectable collection of Joyce criticism, if not quite the equivalent of Berkeley’s.) A better command of German is essential for J.’s studies, highly desirable for mine... and you can’t beat Berlin rent... but the German academic system is not cooperating and wants to send her to a remote castle or something in one of the southern Länder, which I imagine as populated only by goblins and bears....
I love Berkeley, but I’m going to miss this place.
