Confessions of a January non-reader
I hardly even read that much. I blame a variety of factors, including late-stage Henry James (impenetrable!) and a plethora of dog training books, none of which were finished, per se, but which were certainly combed through often enough in anticipation of this little one’s arrival, a life event that also cut down on my reading time.
So now that the pooch is settling in (sort of…I’m giving her little rescue dog craziness a few weeks to calm down before calling in the training big wigs) and my anxiety level has somewhat diminished, I’m ready to start reading again! Nothing deep, nothing heavy, and certainly nothing intense. I just want something escapist and light to breeze through and smile about.
Right now, I’m alternating between Death Comes to Pemberley (a book whose very existence makes me shudder with distaste and which isn’t proving to be terribly good, although certainly escapist and light) and some of Wilkie Collins’ short stories (so far completely excellent along with being escapist). I guess I seek out the nineteenth century when in search of a literary place to relax!
Anyway, I still have a backlog of books I haven’t written about here (The Instance of the Fingerpost by Iain Pears being a completely stellar read I haven’t touched on yet!) and I hope to be reading more in the coming weeks so I have more to post about.
What have you all been reading in my blogging absence? Anything most excellent you could recommend?
Entry filed under: Musings and Essays.