I’m not in any position to be handing out book recommendations.
After all, I was the 19-year-old who thought Mrs. Dalloway would make great reading for my mom; she was working full-time, going to school full-time, and still taking care of my brother. Yup, I recommended abstract, heady Modernist reading to my busy mother. After several attempts she said, “Maybe some other time, Erin. But for now I need something I can read in bits and pieces.” I, who spent an entire Saturday in college wallowing in the book, then wandered to the dining hall in a daze and explained my behavior to my best friend with “I’ve been in a book,” couldn’t understand that different books are for different moods and times, much less different people! And, I’ll admit, “a trip” is the first thing that comes to mind with Virginia Woolf, rather than “casual bedtime reading.” I can only say that that was a moment of stupidity on my part, and that I was much better with my library patrons, and have become much better when recommending books to those close to me since then.
But as I’ve spent the last couple of days on the couch, reading books, I thought I would pass along some thoughts, just in case something sparks your interest.
Being laid low by a bit of a cold allowed me to polish off Crime and Punishment, which I’d been working through for the past few weeks. NOT the best choice to try to read over Christmas travels, but oh well. Amazingly quirky writing style (oh how I wish I knew Russian and could try it in the original), but being inside a crazy man’s head tends to leave you a bit skittish in your own life. I’ve yelped with surprise recently before realizing that the movement I saw was made by Sydney, who is near and dear, and quite allowed to move around in his own house without fear of a yelping wife. I’m going to tackle The Brothers Karamazov next, which I understand is more likely to be considered “enjoyable” and not simply “classic.” I’ll admit I’m ready to see another side to Dostoevsky . . .
A recent “find,” however, is Virginia Woolf’s Orlando. I know, I know, I just got through telling you that Woolf may be an aquired taste, but in my defense, the back cover claims this is “the most accessible of Woolf’s novels.” Woolf’s reassuring narrative voice (man, she has quite the presence in her novels) makes a crazy story somewhat comforting, quite engaging, and actually a very quick read. I also swallowed this one in a day’s reading, although I didn’t come out of this one in a daze, as I did with Mrs. Dalloway. Instead, I set aside the last 30 pages to read in the morning because I was reluctant to have it end so soon. It’s just a lot of fun. Oh yes, and there are some interesting feminist aspects to her writing (read: old-school feminists from the beginning of the 20th century, not the breed that we see now) that I actually really liked: those small intrusions on the story keep you aware that this is indeed a story told by someone with her own perspective. In other words, it gives you a personality to pit your own arguments and your own ideas against.
Alright, the two sickies are going to summon the energy for an outing: to the grocery store!
Erin
Alan Schmierer