I won't be having much time off over summer, but making a summer reading list makes it feel a little more like a holiday. I'm trying to be good and chip away at the huge number of books I've bought but not yet read, so this list is put together more with a view to clearing shelves than to creating a cohesive reading program. But it's the holidays, so who really wants to worry about "cohesion" anyway?
From the overflowing shelves:
The Passage - Justin Cronin
Changing My Mind: Occasional Essays - Zadie Smith
Perdido Street Station - China Miéville
Citrus County - John Brandon
The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao - Junot Diaz
Boneshaker - Cherie Priest
A few things I want to add to the collection over the holidays:
Freedom - Jonathan Franzen
Mockingjay - Suzanne Collins
Endangered Pleasures - Barbara Holland
Finally, a bit of re-reading:
The Beach - Alex Garland (I loved this book as a teenager and I'm intrigued to find out if it is still my cup of tea)
I'm sure I'll receive a book or two for Christmas or stumble upon other things I'd like to read so I will allow myself a small amount of diverting from the list, but I'd like to stick to the plan as much as possible. Internet, hold me to it!
School's out and I'm catching up on the never-diminishing pile of unread books:
I found Shampoo Planet almost unbearably dated, and it was a real struggle to overcome that and enjoy the very particular emotional sensibility that Coupland injects into his work.
Bitter Seeds, on the other hand, I cannot recommend enough. Nazis with superpowers? Churchill with warlocks? I am THERE! Tregillis creates such creepy atmosphere, and while Nazi Frankstein's monsters might sound a little silly, I can assure you, these guys are not to be trifled with. Scary! My horror at the ending's epic cliffhanger has abated now that I know that book two in The Milkweed Triptych, The Coldest War, is coming in February 2011. There's a great interview with the author over at John Scalzi's blog, if you care to read on.
James Collins had a great article in the NY Times Sunday Book Review a couple of weeks ago about forgetting the contents of books you've read. This is a huge problem for me (although if this article is anything to go by I'm not alone - relief!), particularly embarrassing when a friend wants to discuss a book I have adamantly recommended them and I cannot recall the first thing about it.
The article suggests that this forgetfulness can be rectified by vigorous note-taking and re-reading. I don't think I'm prepared to do that for everything I read, but I am finding more and more that I return to old favourites to get to know them better. Come to think of it though, I'm not sure it helps - I must've read The Secret History by Donna Tartt four or five times now, and yet every time I am shocked anew when Henry kills himself (it is Henry who does that, isn't it?). By the time I come to read it again, I will have forgotten that I recalled that plot point for the purposes of this blog post and gasp with disbelief when he pulls the trigger.
Perhaps this is an upside - I can enjoy my favourite novels for the first time, over and over again.
Obviously, not a lot of blogging is getting done. I am reading a lot though, mostly because I am reading to avoid spending time on set texts for my class. How will this affect my final essay? Who can tell.
I have almost finished Sloane Crosley's latest collection of essays, How Did You Get This Number. I love good writing about the mundane (or not-so-mundane - I guess not everybody has run over a bear in a car full of bridesmaids) bits and pieces of everyday life. Imagine a younger, midwestern-but-now-New-Yorker, female David Sedaris. Anyone who uses the phrase "I was going to get the shit smote out of me" is fine by me.
I have been struggling my way through this, for class:
so have failed utterly to have any interesting book/blog related thoughts. I'm disappointed in myself for not enjoying this more - for some (obviously unfounded) reason, I thought James would be my cup of tea. Perhaps it will all become clear at the end?
I had to have a brief mental-palate-cleansing read, so I went for this:
the eighth and final book in Sara Shepard's unapologetically trashy and fabulous Pretty Little Liars series. Henry would be rolling in his grave, but I have no regrets (and now I FINALLY know who killed Ali - YAY)!
Fiona Crawford has posted a great write up of Bret Easton Ellis' recent appearance at the Byron Bay Writer's Festival over on The Book Burgler, for those who are so inclined.
Obviously I am a huge fan of Ellis' work and it was a great pleasure to hear him speak at his Oxford Art Factory event on this tour. I was unsure of what to expect (it's foolish but easy to mistake authors for their characters, isn't it?), but I was surprised and pleased to find him a very engaging, self-deprecating and clever guy. I haven't yet started Imperial Bedrooms but I am looking forward to it all the more now.
Going on holidays has killed my blog momentum (and trying to read postmodernist Mexican literature (at least, that's what I think it is) that isn't really to my taste has killed my reading momentum).
I will say though, that these are my favourite non-fiction books, and Franzen is probably my favourite non-fiction writer.
[Charles] Schulz wasn't an artist because he suffered. He suffered because he was an artist. To keep choosing art over the comforts of a normal life - to grind out a strip every day for fifty years; to pay the very steep psychic price for this - is the opposite of damaged. It's the sort of choice that only a tower of strength and sanity can make.
There is such tenderness to his writing, and clarity, even when he writes about his own doubt or guilt or failure to understand. It has been a while since I read How to be Alone but his essays on the Chicago post office and reading William Gaddis (a novelist who I am sure I will never actually be capable of reading) are still vivid in my mind.
Read these books, they will make you feel good about having a brain.
This is a blog about books and related matters, written by a voraciously reading, former bookselling, postgraduate English student who is attempting to come up with a thesis topic.
I use Amazon affiliate links, which means if you purchase something through an Amazon link on my blog, I receive a (very) small amount of the purchase price.
I found Shampoo Planet almost unbearably dated, and it was a real struggle to overcome that and enjoy the very particular emotional sensibility that Coupland injects into his work.
Bitter Seeds, on the other hand, I cannot recommend enough. Nazis with superpowers? Churchill with warlocks? I am THERE! Tregillis creates such creepy atmosphere, and while Nazi Frankstein's monsters might sound a little silly, I can assure you, these guys are not to be trifled with. Scary! My horror at the ending's epic cliffhanger has abated now that I know that book two in The Milkweed Triptych, The Coldest War, is coming in February 2011. There's a great interview with the author over at John Scalzi's blog, if you care to read on.
Finally, back with an old friend.
so have failed utterly to have any interesting book/blog related thoughts. I'm disappointed in myself for not enjoying this more - for some (obviously unfounded) reason, I thought James would be my cup of tea. Perhaps it will all become clear at the end?
[Charles] Schulz wasn't an artist because he suffered. He suffered because he was an artist. To keep choosing art over the comforts of a normal life - to grind out a strip every day for fifty years; to pay the very steep psychic price for this - is the opposite of damaged. It's the sort of choice that only a tower of strength and sanity can make.
