Slam the door; turn the key; close the transom; roll the bureau in tight and stack the chairs on top. My on-hand reading is full and even with a strict yoghurt diet I’ll never outlast the shelves of books and the digital jungle of novels, short stories, poetry, and an essay or two or two thousand. I’m done. No more books.
Do you think the publishing houses will honor my demand?
Drat! What if I read on-line or in the Post or hear a recommendation on Twitter? Should I resign from all social media? Should I cancel the Post? Should I sell my computer? If I disappear will Apple Books survive me?
Continue reading “Away All Books!”
There are just way too many books out there that are flashing big bright “Read Me!” signs. I have dedicated myself to going back for those classics and well-received contemporary books that have escaped my reading lists (or disappeared under a covering of dust and forgetfulness). But then I hear about a new and exciting title and my urgency juices start to flow causing Henry James and Émile Zola to slide back behind Clarissa and The Good Soldier Svejk.
Is there a computer algorithm available which calculates the value of literature against the estimated time remaining and generates the optimal prioritized reading list?
Continue reading “The More I Read, The More They Pull Me In”
When Sarah Winchester died there was enough new lumber stacked outside the San Jose mansion to build an entire second mansion and then some. I sit here looking over my built-in bookshelves, contemplating how high the yet-to-be-read books would stack after I get moved out to the old folks home (or even worse).
Realistically, I could be sixteen years old and the number of books I might want to read still would be daunting .. well, yes and no .. when you’re sixteen the idea that you won’t live forever is never considered. Can I get Dad’s car on Friday night? Will my cow-lick ever lay flat? Is that a zit on my nose? When your brain is full of important questions like those, who has time for mortality?
Continue reading “Food Fight!”
I’m sitting here in my office library with several current reading projects open on various electronic devices. On my new iPhone I’m gradually reflecting on the horrendous stories of Russian troops caught in the ill-fated Afghan war (The Zinky Boys by Svetlana Alexievich); on my iPad I’m reading both Ace Atkins last Spenser novel, Black Magic and slowly enjoying the more demanding Henry James novel, The Portrait of a Lady (split screen is so handy); and on my old iPhone, which doubles as a go-to-bed radio, I am enjoying an entertaining novel, Mrs. Fletcher by Tom Perrotta. Yes, I watched the HBO series and my impression is that the series is much like the book except Kathryn Hahn is delightful and well worth lusting after.
Continue reading “My Control Room of Reading”