Somehow, I’ve fallen into a bit of a reading funk; whether it’s a shorter commute with proportionally more Internet access which means that I spend the commute reading email and catching up with Google Reader, the torrential rain we’ve had in the last few weeks, or the 50-hour working weeks which seem to have become standard in my life, for some reason I’ve barely opened a book in the last few weeks.
Advent with Atwood commences shortly, so I’ve already zipped through my first Atwood (The Penelopiad for those interested, review to come in early December) and I’ve been carrying around The Blind Assassin, our readalong text, for at least a week without actually opening it. As I’ve committed to a readalong of The Night Watch as well, I’m seriously considering spending money on an ebook for the first time and buying them both for the Kindle, if only to save my aching shoulders.
We’ve been waiting for a replacement RAM chip for our computer for nearly two months now and Royal Mail and I finally managed to see eye-to-eye for long enough on Thursday for me to pick it up – along with a book that I discovered they’ve been trying to deliver for just as long! The book in question is Susan Elliot Wright’s The Things We Never Said. For lack of anything else to read the day I picked it up, I started on it straight away and got about 60 pages in before putting it down – the combination of a histrionic pregnant woman (why do novelists never seem to depict happy mothers-to-be??) and very short chapters flicking back and forth across time periods sent me back to my Kindle. I’ll save this one for a long train ride.
On the Kindle, I read the first six chapters of Anna Karenina, having denied The German the opportunity to see it in the cinema because I wanted to read it first (this nearly happened to us with The Help, too…), I’ve finally opened it; I’m coping ok with all the names although why Tolstoy couldn’t follow every other author and just pick a name for a character and stick with it is beyond me. But it started to feel like a book I should listen to rather than read, so I put that down again too. Then I turned to Inner Peace in a Busy World which is exactly the self-help molasses that it sounds like, but I’m finding it well-written and quite helpful.
Last Sunday I caught up with The German and 3G for all you can eat sushi (a dangerous concept but probably healthier than all you can eat ribs/ice cream/pancakes?) and The German presented me with Whatever Happened to Harold Absalom?, a self-proclaimed “detective story on a Routemaster bus” (Routemasters are those famous London red buses with the platform on the back to jump onto). The blurb warned me that Marguerite (a male detective, even with that name) records his case with comic digressiveness, but it requires real forces of concentration to follow the weavings of his strange mind. So far, 19 pages in, it’s quite enjoyable.
What are YOU reading?