Right before the 24 hour readathon seems like a good time to stop and look at which books I've currently started and not finished yet (ah, so many). Fall seems to always kick into I Am Particularly Busy, Thank You mode, so I've read not very much? And I kind of have books I promised people I'd read and review in a timely fashion, so I am FAILING AT THAT, only not completely because I've half-heartedly brought them with me on the bus at various times and read like two pages before remembering I have Candy Crush on my phone.
Burial Rites, Hannah Kent. Little, Brown was all "Hey, do you want to read a book about an Icelandic murderess?" and I said "Ahahahaha yes, why are you even asking." And I've started it, and while I wouldn't be all "Omg the WRITING, people," it's good. It's a good book. And. Y'know. Most of the books (read: all) I read take place in North America/England. So this is a branching out.
BUtterfield 8, John O'Hara. I love John O'Hara. He was supposed to kind of be an asshole in person, but I will read all his things. I've started this and already giggled in an obnoxiously gleeful way when I realized the direction it was taking. It was written in the 1930s and...look, John O'Hara is just great. The End.
Finnegans Wake, James Joyce. DO YOU KNOW HOW LONG I HATED JOYCE? And then Megs reviewed it yesterday and I had the unexpected reaction of really wanting to read it. So I got it from Open Books (best bookstore in Chicago) and it's pretty swell. Do you know what word he uses? "Hierarchitectitiptitoploftical." SAY IT OUT LOUD THAT IS THE POINT. If I could marry words, I would. (she said in a totally unpretentious way)
The Goldfinch, Donna Tartt. This is still great. The fact I didn't become hopelessly mired in the middle speaks volumes as to its greatness. Because it is a longass book, and I now have fewer than 200 pages to go. But still. Longass book.
50 Works of English Literature We Could Do Without. This is stellar in the snarkiest of ways, but it's not a read-straight-through sort of book, as it consists of 50 essays by three authors. I'll eventually do a post where I just quote a bunch of first lines, as those tend to be the best parts of the reviews.
The Maid's Version, Daniel Woodrell. I don't even know where this is, to be honest, but I'm sure if I gave it the ol' college try, I could find it in under 15 minutes. This is an EXTREMELY short novel about a fire at a dance hall, and it's written by the guy who wrote Winter's Bone, which I didn't know was a book but knew was a movie because JLaw's in it.
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| I'm a reader, you guys |
Burial Rites, Hannah Kent. Little, Brown was all "Hey, do you want to read a book about an Icelandic murderess?" and I said "Ahahahaha yes, why are you even asking." And I've started it, and while I wouldn't be all "Omg the WRITING, people," it's good. It's a good book. And. Y'know. Most of the books (read: all) I read take place in North America/England. So this is a branching out.
BUtterfield 8, John O'Hara. I love John O'Hara. He was supposed to kind of be an asshole in person, but I will read all his things. I've started this and already giggled in an obnoxiously gleeful way when I realized the direction it was taking. It was written in the 1930s and...look, John O'Hara is just great. The End.
Finnegans Wake, James Joyce. DO YOU KNOW HOW LONG I HATED JOYCE? And then Megs reviewed it yesterday and I had the unexpected reaction of really wanting to read it. So I got it from Open Books (best bookstore in Chicago) and it's pretty swell. Do you know what word he uses? "Hierarchitectitiptitoploftical." SAY IT OUT LOUD THAT IS THE POINT. If I could marry words, I would. (she said in a totally unpretentious way)
The Goldfinch, Donna Tartt. This is still great. The fact I didn't become hopelessly mired in the middle speaks volumes as to its greatness. Because it is a longass book, and I now have fewer than 200 pages to go. But still. Longass book.
50 Works of English Literature We Could Do Without. This is stellar in the snarkiest of ways, but it's not a read-straight-through sort of book, as it consists of 50 essays by three authors. I'll eventually do a post where I just quote a bunch of first lines, as those tend to be the best parts of the reviews.
The Maid's Version, Daniel Woodrell. I don't even know where this is, to be honest, but I'm sure if I gave it the ol' college try, I could find it in under 15 minutes. This is an EXTREMELY short novel about a fire at a dance hall, and it's written by the guy who wrote Winter's Bone, which I didn't know was a book but knew was a movie because JLaw's in it.
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| Lest we forget our muse |
If I can finish TWO of the above by the end of Saturday, there shall be much rejoicing. In my apartment. With hummus. And tiny chocolate chip cookies.
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