2008 was my worst year by far for reading. I still read some fabulous stuff, but for the very first time in my existence it felt as though I could go through life without ever reading anything at all. Yes, it was a crazy year. From beginning to end, every certainty I ever possessed was questioned. I thought I had figured some things out - myself above all - but I was wrong. And yet it was a year I will be grateful for.
I went back to the library, ironically a year to the day I last did - Jan 25th. Planned to borrow a bunch of M & Bs or at least pseudo historical romances, which is my preferred form of trash reading. Struggling through The Last Mughal made me think that perhaps I was better off reading only frivolous stuff. But standing there in front of those bookshelves, it wasn't the romances that I felt like picking up. I did pick one, The Weaver's Daughter, but even though it was a pedestrian piece of writing, it was less a bodice ripper than a low-brow attempt at capturing a time in history.
So now I'm reading a book that I have long wanted to: On Beauty by Zadie Smith. Marvelous. Especially the Howard's end style beginning.
See, I'm less frivolous than I think!
The Restless Quill has a new home.
2 years ago