Nothing dampens New Year spirits like enroute transatlantic food poisoning, followed by a sinus infection, followed by another, much less glamorous lady infection. Ahh, 2013. And the real topping shame (at only 8 days in!) is to stay in bed all day, reading books you wouldn't admit to and wouldn't have read save for your kindle's amazing power of secret keeping and anonymity
"Oh, what am I reading? The Economist...I never miss a week!" I say to my husband who most definitely does not believe me, but says "you go" as he puts on his running shoes on and heads out the door with our dog.
I do read the economist. Sometimes. But he is the best. Always.
But that's not the point. The point is, I mostly do not regret my sorry sate. My inner recluse has been dying to get out and having a good excuse to ignore my New Year's goals of social-ness, it was nice to set her free. I've finished a few books and of those I'd mention, Russell Brand's My Booky Wook is not worth your time but Nick Hornby's Juliet, Naked, dissatisfying ending not withstanding, most certainly is. Nuanced relationships, transcontinental travel, music, regret, the nature of art and its relationship to the critic - all the fun stuff. Gillian Flynn's Gone Girl is a fascinating, if chilling and thoroughly disturbing, examination of marital gender roles disguised as a mystery novel and John Greene's The Fault in Our Stars is driven, as are all of his books, by some terrifically smart, honest, thought provoking teenage characters trying to push past all the garbage and figure things out...disguised as a sad cancer book. Anna Karenina taunts me still these long months, but my kindle says I'm at 61% - I can't quit now!
My mother in law is a great reader and a great woman. She read me a quote a while back from C.S. Lewis (or Lewis Carrol... awe shoot) that said his favorite way to be was just "slightly sick" to stay home all day and read a book. I think there might also have been mention of looking out over the sea, but that could be me, mixing up my favorite loner's image of a 8th century manuscript illuminator overlooking the North Sea from his dark cell while he pens naughty jokes in the margins of The Lindisfarne Gospels by candlelight that people like me will read in British Library full color copies and know is actually called marginalia....
Oh my gosh, what am I writing a blog post for? There is so much more to be read! Back to the covers :)