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It might seem to you readers that Jesse, Devin and I can’t be on this blog together. However, I can assure you that despite our Clark Kent/Supermanness, we are indeed different people. Though with our glasses and our geekiness I can’t imagine which one of us would be Superman. Jesse is more like Charles Xavier in his (sometimes scary) ability to read people. Devin is quite the enigma – she’d probably be the Invisible Woman. And personally I have always leaned more toward being the Hulk. But I digress. . .
I waited a while to post since I wanted Devin and Jesse to have some time center stage. Recently and not so recently this blog has been entirely too much about me and my reading. But now that they’ve had their fifteen minutes I’m stealing back the spotlight. If they want it back they’ll have to read. And post.
Fitting then, that my post should be about David Sedaris, someone entirely self involved and constantly focused on where the spotlight is (and attempting to get it back where it belongs – on him).
I’ve said before that I’m a reluctant short story reader (and I can see why you may think I protest too much, for I do read more short fiction than I honestly should for someone who claims to dislike it). My biggest difficulty with it is that I always end up wanting more.
I like to read in large time increments – settling down on a cold winter’s evening under a blanket, wiling away a Sunday afternoon, passing time on a long commute. Short fiction tends to disrupt my flow, making me break the surface of reality too soon. And since it doesn’t do justice to the next story to jump right in before you’ve digested the last one I’m often at a loss at to what to do when I’m finished.
So one would intelligently ask Why then are you reading essays?
Good question.
The answer is twofold: 1) I LOVE Anne Fadiman – I would read a cereal box she composed and 2) I’ve recently found myself with only short snippets of time to read so essays fit just right.
Of course there is always the danger that when you are in transition from one essay (or story) to the next one that your interest will be stolen away by another, more time consuming endeavor. Sadly such was the case for me this week. I was taken against my will into Borders where I bought a dog book (aka my crack) and I’ve been reading that ever since. I’ll get back to Anne in due time.
She’s a good companion right before sleep sets in. Except when she makes me laugh too hard.
Truly obsessive readers (i.e. people like me) have been known, on occasion, to read two books at once. There are really only two successful ways to do this a) you can read two completely different books (one nonfiction and one fiction is a good idea) or b) you can read two books that complement each other, but only if one requires less “work” than the other. This past week, in an attempt to fill the Harry Potter void, I chose option b and I picked my two books carefully – Reading like a Writer and The Top Ten: Writers Pick Their Favorite Books.
Books about books (or about reading) are the sole realm of serious bibliophiles. Readers wandering into Barnes and Noble or mindlessly exploring Amazon.com aren’t intrigued by these titles. More often than not, they can’t even find them. My favorite independent book store appreciates this small subset of readers and has a shelf entirely for us (entitled, obviously – Books about Books), but that’s unusual. There are no book clubs for these kinds of books and even if there was, there is no cool way to tell someone you’re reading a book about reading (believe me, I tried this morning. Fortunately I outed myself to a fellow enthusiast), unless in the context of a class assignment (which, though it’s an adequate explanation and will save you some face, precludes it being “cool”)
What We're Reading Now 