I read this book many years ago, when I lived in Berkeley. I was an older (late 20's) student with 4 little boys under 10, carriying a full load (English major)in addition to taking care of all "proper household duties of a housewife" of the time... all cleaning, cooking, caring for children, being a "good wife" ... This book struck such a chord with me; the idea of being able to read for pleasure, having the time and freedom for that, was like a fantasy come true.
I came across the title of this book on a list of books I’d read in the 1960’s and couldn’t find anything about the book on a web search, so when I found a second-hand copy, I read it again. Conger is a 30-ish wife and mother of six children, author of a previous book, “Love and Peanut Butter,” and of short stories and magazine articles. In the blog-like entries that make up this book, she writes about her family, her life as an author, and her efforts to read “the classics”. The book seems dated, but I enjoyed little details like buying a paperback book for 53 cents. It certainly had not stuck in my memory from when I read it years ago, and really wasn’t memorable this time around, either.