Reading Rambo

Oh my, what's been happening. Well. I have been acting as a reader of all books, finisher of none, which comes as a surprise to precisely nobody. I wrote a thing for Book Riot! And I'm going to NYC again, where I shall visit the delightful Jeff from Other Press, first mentioned in that post where I questioned Donna Tartt ; Meghan from Little, Brown, whom I met at BEA last year and then talked with into the wee smalls; Blair from Quirk, whom I also met at BEA and have since closed down a Chicago bar with; and Alley, whom you all know and love and her blog is right here . While I'm sad not to see Amanda from Book Riot and Emily from  As the Crowe Flies (and Reads) , BEA will be in Chicago next year! And I live in Chicago! That is THE most convenient. Unlike this year, when it's in NYC again and I am going to California instead because I am turning THIRTY, and while age 25, aka Golden Birthday, was spent seeing the home of my high school beard, John Adams, age 30 is ...

Halloween is in three days, so I obviously decided to pick up The Legend of Sleepy Hollow . My last memory of it was skimming it in my local library, hoping it would be similar to the Tim Burton movie despite KNOWING the Disney version was far more in line. Alas. LITTLE WAS I TO KNOW that my teenage self was an idiot who did not appreciate finely-tuned prose and a near-paradisiacal level of vocab choice. Washington Irving, I want to know you better. And then probably have your babies. And also go on the tour of your house, because the tour guides are "dressed elegantly in hoop skirts or formal dress of the time" and that sounds super-fun. You encouraged Hawthorne and Poe? AND had a badass fur collar? Daaaamn, sir. So he's part of Romanticism, but he's part of American Romanticism, which isn't nearly as stupid as English or German. All it did is make him interested in folk stories and write really, really well. So bravo, American Romanticism! Now le...

Due to my subscription to Oyster, I have all new ways of starting books and not finishing them. EXCITING. But here's the deal on some books I have begun: The Cuckoo's Calling , Robert Galbraith (hahaha we know who you are, Robert). I have avoided this book for so long! I don't know why I'm always so suspicious of J.K. Rowling's books that are not Harry Potter, because I have never (read: the one other time) started and then hated them. But I kept expecting not to like this. And then -- AND THEN -- I am liking it so much. Sooo much. I am slowly realizing I'm totally a fan of the mystery/thriller genre and I just always dismissed it as Not Literary Enough. Boo, Alice, boo. This has the unkempt private detective Cormoran Strike as a main character and WHO DOESN'T WANT TO READ ABOUT THAT GUY nobody that's who. Adam , Ariel Schrag. I got a review copy of this and then they also put it on Oyster. Tumblr is PISSED about it, which probably means I need to ju...

I just had a moment of panic for my desk/vanity. I've had this large, cumbersome piece of furniture since I was a teenager and wanted to decorate my room in the style of the 1940s (yeah, I was one of those cool kids who did that sort of thing). So I begged my parents for this desk, which we saw at an antique store, and they bought it for me, and I carted it off to Chicago when I moved up here. But my room is appx 8 x 9, and in that I have my tiny bed, a keyboard and its stand, a floor lamp, and my giant desk/chair. So for Christmas I requested a much lighter desk. My dad informed me today they got it, and I have to pick it up downtown. Which means I have to get rid of my giant heavy wooden desk, which is causing me anxiety because the PICTURES shoved in the mirror during high school, and the endless packs of hair ties in its drawers (those I'm probably less attached to, but still). What's going to happen to it after it leaves my apartment? MEMORIES. ...everything'...

"In short, the almost torpid creatures of my own fancy twitted me with imbecility, and not without fair occasion." And with that, I fell in love with Nathaniel Hawthorne. I'm not talking about that fricking lame "I fell in love with Tuscany last autumn" kind of love. I'm saying I would literally make out with Nathaniel Hawthorne and have his babies. With possibly some stuff in between. I mean, I'm really glad he was happily married and all, and I'd still pick John Adams over him if the option presented itself (that's a whole other thing), but were I to be transported back in time to 1850 and he wasn't married, I'd be known as that brazen Illinois girl who was constantly throwing herself at Mr. Hawthorne and tying her bonnet in a shamelessly beguiling manner. Here's the thing: House of Seven Gables sucks. I read it before I went to Salem last year to see 'the house that inspired the book,' and both the book and the house we...