Yep, its 1:41am, and I'm awake in the literary man-cave also known as my husband's office, typing on his keyboard that despite numerous applications of the brushy vacuum-attachment persuasion still sports several ounces of crumbs and a sticky toolbar that feels like 4" by 3/4" of movie theater floor. I usually restrict my forays into this room to standing here, touching nothing, and looking while he says "You have to see this" but I can't sleep. So rather than staring at the bedroom ceiling for an hour woolgathering any and all sources of anxiety I can muster, here I am. The Huz tells me I should keep a reading blog like he does and write reviews of everything I stick my nose in but that's too much like work. He's good at it, though. So we'll leave that to him. This is as close as I'm gonna get.
Saturday night I rode in an ambulance with a fifteen year old boy to a larger hospital from our country one because he rolled his dirt bike and broke his leg in lots of jaggedy we-can't-fix-em-here pieces. Since he was gorked out on the good drugs and drifted off about every third sentence I amused myself by making a list of books I've read this summer. I concluded that maybe I need to get outside more, though in my defense I did some of this reading on the porch.
Here's the story so far, with links to Amazon because geez people, its the middle of the night and I'm too lazy to import all these graphics.
Also, they aren't in exact order in the beginning cause I kinda forget.
1. Bringing Out The Dead -- Joe Connelly
What reading it says about me: I'm that much of a wacker that I was excited that it had an ambulance on the cover.
What it meant to me really: I'm that much of a wacker that I read it because its about an EMT.
2. The Sum of Our Days -- Isabel Allende
What it says: If I like an author I will plunder their entire library and read everything they ever wrote down to shopping lists.
What it meant: My husband brought it home from the library 'cause he knows what I like.
3. & 4. The Lone Ranger and Tonto Fistfight in Heaven and The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian -- Sherman Alexie
What it says: I am actually lazy enough that I'll just read books my husband puts down. Especially if he spends a lot of time snorting in an amused way while reading them.
What it means: They were funny. They were depressing. I feel guilty. You should read them anyway.
5. Bel Canto -- Ann Patchett
What it says: Top of the pile from the rummage sale bookstore. Also: He picked it out for me.
What it means: There are people who write 'romantic novels' who I don't have the urge to mow down with my car.
6. Light in August -- William Faulkner
What it says: "I am so smart! S-M-R-T!"
What it means: Wow. Depressed alcoholics write some depressing crap. Who knew. Oh well, I am so smart! S-M-R-T!
7. Palace of Illusions -- Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni
What it says: We got an uncorrected bound manuscript not for sale at a used bookstore in paperback that isn't even available until Feb 2009 and we are such dorks we did like a dorky literary high-five 'woot' dance thing over that.
What it means: I dig Indian mythology, though I am so lazy I actually copied and pasted her name rather than typing it out. For that matter, for the first few chapters I got the names mixed up, had to refer to the chart in the front, and felt like I was back in Dr. Clyde Ross' China and India course in college. (Yes, my whitish liberal arts college saw fit to stick both countries' rich history, art, music, theater, and literature into ONE one-semester course. They may as well have thrown Korea and Japan in there for the heck of it. And don't ask me what I got, only know that with the help of a large can of store-brand instant iced-tea you can cram five dynasties of Chinese history in one night).
8. Lolita -- Vladimir Nabokov
What it says about me: We own classics! I pull them off the shelf and read them for reals!
What it means to me: EW EW EW EW EW!!! Christmas in Killarney, people, this is a creepy story. And if you really need to not sleep ever ever, I see here on good old Amazon that you can get an audiobook of it read by JEREMY IRONS. AAAAAAAAH!
That's the list so far. I'll probably have to jump back into the Chronicles of Narnia to wash Lolita out of my soul, even though I've been reading it over a year and keep falling asleep with the giant book crushing my sternum after half a dozen pages. I welcome your recommendations as well, though I declare this a Nora Roberts and She Who Must Not Be Named-free zone for ever and always.
I hear there's lists over here too. Flying lists. Excellent lists.