On the last day of our stay in Kenya this year, while killing time, we stopped by the Karen Blixen Museum outside Nairobi. The trip had actually been inspired by a comment I made, which was ironic because I’d never actually read Out Of Africa or any of her other works. We had to rush through the museum a little bit, but I still enjoyed seeing it, and I purchased a copy of Out Of Africa as well as a picture book about the museum.

I read about half of Out Of Africa on the various flights and layovers on our way home. I read a little more in the days after the trip. But then, for some reason, I was distracted and set the book aside.

In the past week or two, as I’ve been trying to straighten up the apartment a bit, I came across the book and realized I’d never finished it. I finally did so this morning. It’s a wonderful piece of writing, crisp and evocative (as if anyone needed me to say that). I guess I need to see the Meryl Streep / Robert Redford movie version now, although I can’t see how it could compare to the book, and Denys Finch-Hatton is such a thoroughly British character in the book that Redford’s portrayal (which I understand to be straightforwardly American) will surely sound a sour note.