I found myself an easy way out

I have given up The Fatal Shore as a bad job and now I'm reading An Anthropologist on Mars. This represents a huge improvement in my quality of life and I'm wondering if I hate Robert Hughes: he's far too sloppy a writer and organizer of thoughts and references to be useful or smoothly enjoyable academically, and he uses too many big words to be widely popularly accessible, which in my head looks like being clever for the sake of it and not being clever for the sake of passing the cleverness on. But whatever. He built a career out of it so it must be working, and when I think back hard I remember his enthusiasm made his art books really nice to read.

Anyways, An Anthropologist on Mars is fucking terrific and organized at this point, which is, mind you, only about sixty pages in. The first case study is about an artist who loses any relationship with colour after a brain injury and the little exploration of colour given in it in neurological terms is so very interesting.