Rosebud, PhD and her gang have been traveling East the last week or so. We left the Midwest as soon as possible with the completion of the Spring Semester. After packing the car to gills, dogs included, we set out for points east. In days past, we would read aloud as we drove (do not worry, the driver does not read). We have left that practice lag in recent trips, but I think we might pick it up again for our return voyage.
I, however, have not stopped reading on my own. Once we are on winter or summer break, I take the opportunity to read as much fiction as possible. Hence the new list of books added to the "Books We are Reading Lately." I managed to complete the Bruce Alexander Sr. John Fielding Mystery series. I thoroughly enjoy a good historical mystery. Historical fiction however, can be tricky for me (same can be said and more for historical movies.) I cringe, as I assume all good historians do, with "modern" interpretations of the past that are really inaccurate. After the Alexander books, I moved on to Jhumpa Lahiri's, Unaccustomed Earth. I enjoyed her previous books, both Interpreter of Maladies and The Namesake. (At some point, I would love to see the movie, too.) Maybe it was the shift from the late eighteenth century crime novels to contemporary stories of family, love, identity, and the immigration experience, but I struggled with this one. I enjoyed, but not enjoyed reading it. Lahiri is a wonderful storyteller. Her language carries the reader along; I was engrossed. I put the book down and was, well, not happy.
This tends to happen for me a lot in contemporary fiction. There is a preponderance of depressing events. While I commend someone like Oprah Whinfrey for encouraging reading, many of her books are about abuse and other depressing subjects, such as Alice Sebold's The Lovely Bones. I remember picking up this book in a store, reading the back cover, and putting it immediately down when I learned it began with the rape and murder of a child. Uh, seriously? Why do I need to read this? Because I apparently did. It was all the rage; the book to read. Of course, my failure to appreciate such examinations of contemporary life and culture is a failure of my intellect or something like that. This, I accept, because I have many intellectual limitations. graduate school taught me that. I think I started reading a Jane Austen novel instead. Ah, but that is where my heart lies.
This morning, I pulled out Madeleine L'Engle's Certain Women. I am eager to read this. It has a somewhat troublesome discription on the back of potentially sad story--death of a parent--but I feel more comfortable traversing this path with L'Engle than others. I devoured her books for young adults when I was younger. It is only recently that I started reading her fiction for adults. If I am lucky, I will get through this one and have time for another before we return to the Midwest and regularly scheduled programming.
I, however, have not stopped reading on my own. Once we are on winter or summer break, I take the opportunity to read as much fiction as possible. Hence the new list of books added to the "Books We are Reading Lately." I managed to complete the Bruce Alexander Sr. John Fielding Mystery series. I thoroughly enjoy a good historical mystery. Historical fiction however, can be tricky for me (same can be said and more for historical movies.) I cringe, as I assume all good historians do, with "modern" interpretations of the past that are really inaccurate. After the Alexander books, I moved on to Jhumpa Lahiri's, Unaccustomed Earth. I enjoyed her previous books, both Interpreter of Maladies and The Namesake. (At some point, I would love to see the movie, too.) Maybe it was the shift from the late eighteenth century crime novels to contemporary stories of family, love, identity, and the immigration experience, but I struggled with this one. I enjoyed, but not enjoyed reading it. Lahiri is a wonderful storyteller. Her language carries the reader along; I was engrossed. I put the book down and was, well, not happy.
This tends to happen for me a lot in contemporary fiction. There is a preponderance of depressing events. While I commend someone like Oprah Whinfrey for encouraging reading, many of her books are about abuse and other depressing subjects, such as Alice Sebold's The Lovely Bones. I remember picking up this book in a store, reading the back cover, and putting it immediately down when I learned it began with the rape and murder of a child. Uh, seriously? Why do I need to read this? Because I apparently did. It was all the rage; the book to read. Of course, my failure to appreciate such examinations of contemporary life and culture is a failure of my intellect or something like that. This, I accept, because I have many intellectual limitations. graduate school taught me that. I think I started reading a Jane Austen novel instead. Ah, but that is where my heart lies.
This morning, I pulled out Madeleine L'Engle's Certain Women. I am eager to read this. It has a somewhat troublesome discription on the back of potentially sad story--death of a parent--but I feel more comfortable traversing this path with L'Engle than others. I devoured her books for young adults when I was younger. It is only recently that I started reading her fiction for adults. If I am lucky, I will get through this one and have time for another before we return to the Midwest and regularly scheduled programming.
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