Eros the bittersweet, Anne Carson

I have been taking short tastes of Anne Carson's Eros the Bittersweet in the early evening, enjoying her supple shaping of eros as lack, want, desire. My business is not eros (which is sore, backwards), I realise. At sixteen I liked the idea of kindred spirits; scornful of ghosts, I wanted kin. I looked everywhere. I still do. No pathos. Boundless curiosity. Reading and writing are roundabout routes, if you have the time. Reading Anne Carson remakes writing Judy Kravis. It was ever thus. Reading one writes another.