If I seem unduly excited about audiobooks, it’s been a long road: I’ve been trying to get into them for three years. This is because reading is my favorite pastime, but I also need to exercise. Or so they tell me.
Ergo: Listen to audiobooks while exercising. A match made in heaven! Except …
I like to go at my own pace. I hear something I want to pause and think on, but the narrator keeps yammering on. Plot points are missed. Confusion abounds. Crankiness ensues.
But I was determined! Because cardiovascular health. Continue reading “Hallelujah! I finally discovered audiobooks I love!”
Years ago at a party, one of my cousins introduced me to a schoolmate of his with the description, “She’s studying English Literature.”
“Really?” the friend asked (slyly, I thought). “Have you heard of the book Gobbledy Gook“?
I told him (haughtily, I hoped) that no, in fact, I’d never heard of Gobbledy Gook. That’s when he laid some truth on me: the book didn’t exist. He’d made up the title, apparently to test whether I was legit. At the time, I thought it was kind of a douche move, but maybe he had a point.
Lying about books is apparently a thing. Continue reading “Why are people lying about the books they’ve read?”
If you’ve spent time reading Edith Wharton, amiright?
Full disclosure: I haven’t read Wharton’s most well known novels, The Age of Innocence and The House of Mirth. I think I was assigned the former, at some point, and the latter, well, I’m guessing there’s little actual mirth involved.
My experience of Wharton is limited to Ethan Frome, Tales of Men and Ghosts, and the short story “Roman Fever.” Each is so shudder inducing in its own way that I’m a bit wary of tackling one of her longer works. Though her writing is so beautiful. I don’t know. I’m torn. Continue reading “3 ways reading Edith Wharton is like a dementor attack”
When I finish reading a Charles Dickens novel, a sort of malaise comes over me. I fret that no other novelists writing in or translated into English could possibly engage my imaginative faculties such that I will enjoy and benefit from reading their novels as much as I do from reading Dickens’s.
*sighs dramatically whilst draping back of hand against forehead* Continue reading “Does reading great books ruin you for reading good books?”
Yesterday morning, I had to stop by my library to pick up a copy of Harriet Beecher Stowe’s The Annotated Uncle Tom’s Cabin, which my son needs for school. Approximately thirty minutes later, this errand ended with me driving out of the parking lot with five additional books stacked on the passenger seat beside me. Continue reading “When Books Happen”
My grand conclusion after a month of using Goodreads: As a reader, I am vexed to the point of melodrama at the idea of assigning books 1 – 5 stars.
It’s basically grading, right? I’m painfully familiar with grading. As a college professor, it’s my least favorite part of teaching. BUT at least assessment criteria are clearly articulated. No one can pretend there’s not a subjective element when we’re talking about writing, speaking and constructing arguments. BUT at least we spell out for students exactly what we value and is expected of them – in achingly specific detail. Seriously, you should see the rubrics. Continue reading “0 out of 5 Stars for the 5-Star System of Rating Books”
My favorite place to read as a child was under the covers with a flashlight. While the pleasure of being subversive and sticking it to The Man (who, in this case, happened to be a woman: my mom) no doubt played a role, more compelling was that I appreciated the sensory deprivation that facilitated disappearing into the world of a book.
My bedroom, with its white furniture and riot of stuffed animals, vanished from view, and I could submerge myself into the alternate reality of wherever I was traveling to—the Metropolitan Museum of Art with Claudia from From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler, London with Sarah Crewe from A Little Princess or Paddington from A Bear Called Paddington, turn-of-the-century Manhattan with the five sisters from All-of-a-Kind Family.
This memory had slipped into my subconscious until I happened to mention to a friend, as a jokey aside, that what I most appreciate about my Nook GlowLight is how it facilitates reading in the dark. (And the “Plus” version is waterproof, should I wish to read in the bathtub by candlelight!)
Continue reading “When the choice is between e-reading and not reading, I choose my Nook GlowLight Plus”
My first post-Christmas read was Alexander McCall Smith’s charming The Sunday Philosophy Club. The novel is the first in the author’s Isabel Dalhousie series. I love discovering Edinburgh through his characters. I love how ruminative those characters are. I love his gentle wit and insights. Continue reading “In which I undertake “Sketches by Boz””
My friend Jessica Collins writes a beautiful column called “On the Children’s Shelf” over at Books, Ink. In it, she explores the value of reading children’s books (at any age) and shares the great books she discovers. After rediscovering a treasury of (almost) forgotten books last week, I asked Jessica if I could guest write today’s column, and she generously consented. Continue reading “Rediscovering (Almost) Forgotten Book Treasures”
Last week, these were the books in my reading queue: The Martian by Andy Weir and Two Years Eight Months and Twenty Eight Days by Salman Rushdie. Both were for book clubs, one that I lead and one in which I’m a participant. And both were borrowed through my local library’s e-lending program. Continue reading “On borrowing books from the e-library”