Man Without Good Book Listless, Edgy
I need a good book to read.
I always feel out of sorts when I don't have a good book going, and right now I am in between reading gigs. I could feel this coming on as I finished Thirteen Moons. Really loved that one, and experience tells me that it's rare to find a great book to follow a great book. More likely you get a double-bogey after a birdie, which is something else I have experience with. Don't get me started.
Thirteen Moons had everything I like in a novel - historical context, wisdom, a sense of humor, a character I could believe and care about, and just the right amount of sentimentality. (The New York Times review said this one by Frazier is a lot closer to Larry McMurtry than to Cormac McCarthy, which is just fine. Anything that falls on the spectrum between those two guys is going to be a good read for me.) I hated knowing that I would have to finish it. Now what?
I periodically commit myself to the idea that I won't buy another book until I have read every unread book in the house. That usually lasts about a week. This time around, I made a half-hearted attempt to start the most recent translation of Don Quixote. Second time around for me on that one, and no luck. Not in the mood for a masterpiece, I guess. Took a sideways look at A Thousand Splendid Suns but didn't even read the flap. Scoured through the shelves here and there hoping for magic. What was the name of that one about that...thing? The one I heard about from...who? I have a copy of it around here somewhere. Nothing. The Sunday Times book review taunts me.
If you've got any surefire cures for my problem, please correspond. No crime fiction or spy novels need apply - I'm not getting ready to lie on the beach for a week - and no chick lit, Tom Clancy or courtroom thrillers. (You can see the root of my problem now, can't you? Picky, picky, picky.)
Help me before I reach for another magazine...
I always feel out of sorts when I don't have a good book going, and right now I am in between reading gigs. I could feel this coming on as I finished Thirteen Moons. Really loved that one, and experience tells me that it's rare to find a great book to follow a great book. More likely you get a double-bogey after a birdie, which is something else I have experience with. Don't get me started.
Thirteen Moons had everything I like in a novel - historical context, wisdom, a sense of humor, a character I could believe and care about, and just the right amount of sentimentality. (The New York Times review said this one by Frazier is a lot closer to Larry McMurtry than to Cormac McCarthy, which is just fine. Anything that falls on the spectrum between those two guys is going to be a good read for me.) I hated knowing that I would have to finish it. Now what?
I periodically commit myself to the idea that I won't buy another book until I have read every unread book in the house. That usually lasts about a week. This time around, I made a half-hearted attempt to start the most recent translation of Don Quixote. Second time around for me on that one, and no luck. Not in the mood for a masterpiece, I guess. Took a sideways look at A Thousand Splendid Suns but didn't even read the flap. Scoured through the shelves here and there hoping for magic. What was the name of that one about that...thing? The one I heard about from...who? I have a copy of it around here somewhere. Nothing. The Sunday Times book review taunts me.
If you've got any surefire cures for my problem, please correspond. No crime fiction or spy novels need apply - I'm not getting ready to lie on the beach for a week - and no chick lit, Tom Clancy or courtroom thrillers. (You can see the root of my problem now, can't you? Picky, picky, picky.)
Help me before I reach for another magazine...
Comments
The older I get, the dumber I feel. I'm making a pathetic effort to smarten myself up a bit before I hit 50 and it's too late.