I accomplished quite a lot over my long weekend. Unfortunately none of it had anything to do with books or reading. I'm not sure what possessed me but all of a sudden I've had an overwhelming urge to divest myself of 'stuff'. I know spring is traditionally when serious cleaning takes place, but the weather here has been pretty nice, so why not November/December, too? I have managed to fill an entire (granted it was the smallest they had) dumpster full of cast-offs and have a small pile of things sitting on my porch that have been gently used and are looking for new homes (Salvation Army will be taking those away soon). And then there is a small pile of other things that will be recycled or taken away with the weekly trash pick up. Goodbye to it all!
I had no idea that my basement was so large. Too bad it is unfinished or it would have made a perfect space for bookshelves--I could fit lots and lots of books down there, but it's too dusty (to say nothing of the grim verging on scary feel of the space) to be more than a storage area. I have a very small book room that is in dire need of organization (there are more than a few cast-offs there as well that should be sorted through), and the book piles are calling out to be weeded. Really they are calling out to be read, but I wonder now if I am the best audience for some of them. That will be the next big project, but I'll need another long weekend to devote to it. Maybe later this year.
And now with just an afternoon and evening left of my break from work I can finally turn to my books and reading. This wasn't an entirely reading-free weekend, though long stretches of quietness with just a book in hand didn't happen as I would have liked. I have come to the conclusion that unless a small miracle of copious amount of free (that would be reading-) time happens in December my pile (do you notice any difference from the first photo? It's shorter by one book . . .) is not going to disappear. No matter, it's always good to have a goal, even if it's slightly unobtainable, and you never know what may happen.
So, what is missing from the pile above? If you don't want to compare photos, you can check back tomorrow as I'll be writing about it then. In more than a few books the bookmarks have moved forward, though almost imperceptibly so. I've decided that if there is only one book from this pile that I am absolutely determined to finish, it is going to be the Palliser. If I read ten pages (a mere ten pages you say, piece of cake, right? keep in mind the pages are big and the print is small!) a day, I will finish in three weeks. I am having a love-hate relationship with the story, and probably there is more of the latter right now than the former. There are moments when (if I can be honest with you) it is sort of a slog. But seeing as I am nearing page 600 there is really no turning back now. I think it is the wrong book for my mood, and so I don't want to blame Palliser too much (I'm sure I'll write about it all more fully later, however), but a little fine tuning and editing (read that as cutting out some pages--I have 200 pages left) would not have been remiss.
I'm moving slowly through Hans Keilson's The Death of the Adversary. It's an interesting book, though I'm not entirely sure what I think of it. There is not really a plotline, rather it's more philosophical in nature. The narrator is trying to understand evil essentially. He is a victim of hatred, and while his "adversary" is not named, it's Hitler who is at the root of the story. The book is an attempt to "find logic where there is none". While not hard reading per se, it is still hard reading, if you know what I mean. Sort of hard going during this festive holiday season.
Thankfully I've got Herman Wouk's Marjorie Morningstar, which is what I've been reading today. It's much closer to comfort reading (of which I think I am in need of at the moment) than my other books. It's also easy reading and a good story to lose yourself in.
However, not surprising really, my favorite read of the weekend has been May Sarton's Journal of Solitude. I am finding so much in it that I can relate to even though we are, she and I, very different and in very different situations. Some feelings are universal. She writes about her writing, a woman of more than sixty when this journal was published. I think I'll end my post with a couple of excerpts that I marked (I think by the time I finish reading this is going to be a much dog-eared book!). it is not in my December pile of books (even though I am actively reading from it) as it is not one I plan on trying to finish by the end of the year.
"I woke in tears this morning. I wonder whether it is possible at nearly sixty to change oneself radically. Can I learn to control resentment and hostility, the ambivalence, born somewhere far below the conscious level? If I cannot, I shall be the person I love. There is nothing to be done but fo ahead with life moment by moment and hour by hour--put out birdseed, tidy the rooms, try to create order and peace around me even if I cannot achieve it inside me."
*****
"I have time to think. That is the great, the greatest luxury. I have time to be. Therefore my responsibility is huge. To use time well and to be al that I can in whatever years are left to me. This does not dismay. The dismay comes when I lose the sense of my life as connected (as if by an aerial) to many, many other lives whom I do not even know and cannot ever know. The signals go out and come in al the time."
*****
"I suppose I have written novels to find out what I thought about something and poems to find out what I felt about something."
This makes me wonder if people read prose and poetry in different ways and for different reasons? Next year it is already part of my mental planning to read one book of poetry! Maybe then I can find out for myself!
Oh, and those December drop-ins are Wilkie Collins's The Frozen Deep, which I pulled from my bookshelves today. I'm planning on reading along, and as it is happening at the end of the year and I'll be on vacation by then, a novella-length story will be just the ticket. I will also be bringing home The Sorrow of War by Bao Ninh from the library this week. It's the last book for this year's Literature and War Readalong.
You know how there is the twenty-four days of Christmas? Well, I am going to have my own little thirty-one days of reading to take me through the rest of the year. Now, however, it is only twenty-nine (and counting)!