I saw recently about some gentleman who had read 3100+ books in his lifetime. I reckon I’ve at least doubled that. When I was a child I was allowed to borrow 6 books a week–the maximum–from the Portland Public Library. This was my reward for suffering through my piano lesson, which was always a torture; I was a terrible student and my ferocious teacher, Miss Libby, would bang her silver candalabra on her grand piano when she was angry with me, which was often.
I would read my books, often under our grand piano in our living room, and be done before the week was up. Then I would investigate my parents’ library for supplementary reading. I remember asking my father, at a rather young age, who Henry James was. He said, “ he was a great writer, but after you read a sentence you need to go out and play a set of tennis.” Later, in graduate school, I would take a course in Henry James, where we had to read a book a week, up to and including The Golden Bowl and The WIngs of the Dove, both of which must clock in at 500+ pages. I tried to re-read The Golden Bowl about 25 years ago and realized at a point that I had no idea what was going on. I think I grasped more when I was younger and sharper and an academic. And Portrait of a Lady is one of my all-time favorites, right up there with Middlemarch and, of course, any and all of Jane Austen.
But enough of the great wordsmith(s) On the lighter side, in the month before I was to matriculate at Radcliffe, I read every James Bond novel as an escape from my anxiety about college.
For many years I’ve had 3 books going at once: a non-fiction book, a novel, and a mystery or thriller. Many of these last 2 are as well-written and plotted as a ‘serious’ novel.
I read the NYT Book Review religiously; that’s where I get recommendations for new books. I have a Little Free Library and the books I don’t pass on to Liz I put out there. One of my customers asked me once if I were a book reviewer. I laughed and said “no, I’m just a Book Review addict.”
More tomorrow. I’m going to stop now to enjoy the miracle of a thunder and rainstorm.
Once again, I can relate to you. I was allowed 17 books at the Carnegie Public Library in Cheyenne. I would trundle them home in my red wagon (for real) usually dipping into one on the trek. My dad would often be notified by some kind citizen that I was out in the street reading He'd drive from his office and pick me up. A light rain was a pleasure for me (and a rarity in Cheyenne).