Finishing the novel last night has left me in a really peculiar mood this morning--even for a Monday.
I think part of the trouble is that reading the novel has disinterred things from my own past that I would have preferred stayed buried.
I should probably be discussing this on my own blog rather than here.
I should find out if the film is still playing in Philadelphia, except that I will be away this weekend, so I'm not sure there's a point to that, unless I can determine if it's still playing Easter Monday. I could possibly see it then.
As it happens, I'm acquainted with someone whose family background is Italian Jewish. He was born and raised in Israel; I don't know when his family moved there from Italy. He has his Green Card. He married a U.S. citizen (I am well acquainted with the marriage because I was his husband's Best Man!).
But anyway, not yet having seen the movie, it's his voice I "hear" as I read the text, and his face I "see" rather than the voice and face of Timothee Chalamet. (I do "hear" and "see" Armie Hammer, probably because I've already seen him elsewhere.)