I know I haven’t been posting here much – – and I feel neglectful and guilty about it. I wanted to share a bit of what I’ve been reading, without going into much detail, because I really should be sleeping right now.
The past few weeks have been busy, hectic, and exhausting. Wonderful and oh so trying by turns. I’ve been reading a lot, though (as ever) not as much as I’d like. Here’s a brief selection of what I’ve been perusing for the past few weeks.
I read Hemingway’s The Sun Also Rises in a day and a half. I really liked it…I may read it again, someday. I reread Milton’s Paradise Lost over the course of several weeks. It’s excellent…such gorgeous, soaring poetry. I have more thoughts about it I hope to share later. I’ve been reading a great deal of poetry, particularly that of Rachel Wetzsteon (absolutely bloody excellent), Gerard Manley Hopkins, Rumi, Edward Hirsch, Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Robert Browning, Walt Whitman, Rachel Zucker. I’ve just begun a book I was given for Christmas (or my birthday? I think Christmas. Thanks Andrew!), Cormac McCarthy’s Suttree. I’m reading The Complete Julian of Norwich, Marcus Aurelius’ Meditations, and I’ve just started Hermione Lee’s Virginia Woolf’s Nose: Essays on Biography. In my lunch breaks, I’ve been rereading Philip Pullman’s The Golden Compass. Tonight I’m reading Billy Collins. I’ve greatly enjoyed some short stories (and a novel) by the young American writer Maile Meloy, who I heard speak a few weeks ago.
I’m considering reading Jonathan Franzen’s new novel, Freedom. Minutes ago I read Elizabeth Bachner’s new article in the September edition of Bookslut, and as usual, she articulates things I’m feeling but can’t express.
What else have I been reading? I’ve been dabbling too much, and focusing too little…I hope this will change soon. I’ve been reading The Lost Art of the Essay, edited by John D’Agata. I recently read a very short children’s book called Franklin is Lost that left me totally infuriated. I don’t recommend it.
And as ever, I’ve been reading Dickinson and Shakespeare, just in fits and starts. Sorry I’ve been writing so little and so poorly. The one year anniversary of The Art of Reading is coming up. Maybe longevity will spark improvement. Stranger things have happened.