reading: The Corrections, by Jonathan Franzen (yup, still on it. It’s a big book!)
Time for another book post (like I don’t do those enough). I’m looking at my bookcases behind me, beside me, in front of me, and I conclude that I have a) too many books, and b) too few books. Too many to know how many I have, too few because there are still books out there I haven’t read.
Know what I hate? A couple of years ago, I read Open House by Elizabeth Berg. I loved it, loved it, loved, and have lent it to a great many people because I liked it so much. Last June, while I was in Boston, I stood in front of her other books in Barnes and Noble for like half an hour, trying to decide which one to buy. I finally settled on The Art of Mending, and was looking forward to reading it. Well, when I did, it totally disappointed me. Not that the plot or her writing was bad or anything, but she didn’t come close to approaching the level of humor and insight I thought Open House had possessed. Maybe, one day, I’ll have enough courage to try another one (that’ll probably be when I live in the US again and have access to a library with English-language books on its shelves authored by others than Jane Austen, Charles Dickens, and Danielle Steel. But that’s a different frustration altogether. The current one is that I don’t like spending money on bad books).