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?”
and 
. I think I was assigned the former, at some point, and the latter, well, I’m guessing there’s little actual mirth involved.
, 
, and the short story “
.” 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. 
, 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. 
for ages … or, 
, his classic, autobiographical novel that presents as the autobiography of David Copperfield (meta alert), from his birth through adulthood.