One book a week.....ish

When I first started my job in mid-July I was thrilled to have extra time to read. I suppose I had plenty of "extra" time to read when I was unemployed and sitting at home all day, but I was somehow more motivated by having a schedule to use my time off to broaden (aka use) my mind.

I've amassed quite a collection of books from various book sales and used book stores, always buying books with the most genuine of interest but rarely actually reading them. Mostly this was due to time constraints, but it's really easy to get out of the habit of reading--out of the habit of viewing reading as a top priority leisure activity and not one that you get around to when there's nothing good to watch on TV or your computer is out of commission.

All my books were packed in boxes (and most still are...) so I decided to unpack just one box and read something from that. The first book I read was Animal Dreams by Barbara Kingsolver, an author I had heard so much about (which was why I bought the book in the first place) but had never read anything she wrote. I usually don't read stuff by contemporary authors, but I enjoyed her writing style and the story itself. The most basic of summaries: a woman in her late 20s returns to her hometown in northern Arizona for one year to teach at her old high school and look after her ailing father. Mostly it was a phychological reconciliation of her adult perception of her childhood experiences and ideas with the truth of how things really were. Mostly. It's really hard to give the basic premise of a book in a couple of sentences. Anyway, it was good.

Next came A Room With a View by E.M. Forester, which I will not try to summarize but will say that I enjoyed it immensely, especially because I've been on an Italy kick lately. After that, or in the middle of that, came Harry Potter 7, which I read in about 12 hours. I'm sure I have nothing to say about it which has not been said already, but I was impressed with the thoroughness with which Rowling tied everything up. She really did know how she was going to end the series when she started it. I am in no way any kind of Harry Potter fanatic. I've read all the books but I have not memorized characters' lines, I have difficulties even remembering who all the characters are when they're referred to later, and I can only remember a few of the most important spells/charms, and most of the credit for that knowledge can go to my dear nephews. So I don't really feel like I'm in a place to give any kind of informed critique of the book. Like I need to.

This was all followed by The Mayor of Casterbridge by Thomas Hardy, who has a special kind of depressing bleakness all his own. I started out this book disliking it intensely, mostly due to the title character and his idiocy, which seemed contagious. I grudgingly slogged through the first half and then, wonder of wonders, I began to like it. I liked it in the way that you like someone who maybe doesn't have a lot of likable traits, but you begin to understand them and appreciate them over time.

I foolishly tried to follow that book with For Whom the Bell Tolls by Hemingway, but that didn't work. I just couldn't get into it. So now I'm happily reading The Joy Luck Club by Amy Tan, a very interesting and heartbreaking read. I've never thought so much about how lucky I am to have such a wonderful family and privileged upbringing.