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Paperback
First published January 1, 2003
“Having a bifurcated reading brain—one part that likes ‘junk’ and one that reveres ‘literature’—is the same kind of satisfying. You don’t have to be any one thing and you don’t have to think any one way.”
“I believe that an unreturned book between friends is like a debt unpaid. It can linger, fester, throb like a sore wound. The best preventive medicine is the simplest: Return All Books.”
“When things go right in my life, I read. When things go wrong, I read more. Frustrated with work, bored with my marriage, annoyed at my kid or my friends, I escape into books.”
“I’m a little bit contrarian on occasion, especially when it comes to books … Obviously, I tend to get my back up when a book is hyped to death, and I have an almost instinctive ability to look at a book everybody else likes and find (or imagine) its flaws.”
“If I knew it at the beginning of the year, I’ve learned it ten times over: reading is organic and fluid and pretty unpredictable, based as much on mood and location and timing as anything else.”
It’s always dangerous to reread the pivotal books of your youth. Like discovering poetry or journals you wrote as a teenager, revisiting your adolescent feelings about books can be at best embarrassing and often excruciating.I might be the oddball, but I only have a few "pivotal" books, and only one author is embarrassing. Okay, I'll admit it here...Ayn Rand...but like most intelligent adults, I outgrew her (sorry, certain political party.) I rather still like Herbert, Tolkien, Chalker, Asimov. Even Jay Williams doesn't embarrass me. I'll sometimes run across and download books from Open Library for the Nostalgic Re-Read. None embarrass me.
It’s an amalgam of history, myth, and politics—and it just doesn’t work. I kept trying, because I liked McBride so much. I didn’t know him personally, but his memoir was so powerful and rich that I, along with 1.3 million other readers, felt as if I did. Saturday: an hour in bed telling myself that lots of great books start off slow (The Corrections, anyone?) and that I owed it to him to keep trying. So after a perfect winter lunch of soup and bread, I tried again. By page 60, I still hadn’t latched on to any of the characters. By page 70, my mind wandered to the words of that song in A Chorus Line: “I feel nothing.”Some seven years ago, I was bemoaning to a friend both my inability to slog through yet another atrocious Heinlein novel and my doggedly trying to finish a leadership book by Kouzes and Posner. His wisdom is still a challenge for me: "If I've gotten enough out of a book, I'll stop reading." I struggle with that, even if the book has little value to offer. Or, in the case of Heinlein, "Why keep reading crap?" "Because I'm stubborn." "But it's crap."
So I did something I have only in my maturity learned how to do: I stopped reading. Right there, on page 71, right after the hero, a brain-damaged soldier, encounters the little boy who will change his life. I might pick it up again, I told myself. And I might. But I doubt it.
I’m like an animal off its feed. I can’t get into a novel to save my life. Biographies bore me. I’ve left so many open books, belly down, on the green bedroom rug that the whole place is starting to look like an aerial view of a town full of Swiss chalets. I’m out of sorts. I’m off my game. I’m irregular.Boy, do I know that feeling! I call it "reader's block". Turns out, a week later (this was more or less a weekly diary), she used the same term.
Margaret Atwood’s Alias Grace, a 1996 novel that may have been inspired by the same historical crime. When I read that much-praised book, I felt as though I were reading about issues and symbols rather than people. I was not a fan."Issues and symbols rather than people"...yeah...sometimes.