I had the small realization hit me the weekend that I probably haven't read a "real" book since around Christmas. And this surely has to be some kind of record for me.
By the way, when I say "real", I'm not counting graphic novels. Yes, I take them a bit more seriously than most of the population. But if I went more than two weeks without cracking one open, Cathy probably would have me sent to the hospital to see if I was ok. And I don't think the Complete Calvin and Hobbes (which is brilliant fun) counts either.
So for the sake of argument, we're going to classify a book as something that doesn't have any pictures inside of it that assist in telling the story.
But it has been quite odd. It's not that I haven't picked up a book and tried. We got an order from Chapters with several books that look potentially interesting. The last attempt was on The World is Flat by Thomas Friedman. I got about 10 pages into it and got distracted by something else.
I am still reading a lot. There are the aforementioned graphic novels, newspapers, a magazine or two a week and a ton of articles online. But I have, for right now, apparently lost my taste for books. It's quite odd. You would figure that of all places good for a book, being up near the arctic circle would be one of them. Today it is around -48 with windchill. Sounds like a good day for a book, right? Instead, after finishing this, I'll have some lunch, watch some curling, finish watching a movie we rented and then have another go at Civilization IV (more on that another time).
Part of it is, I'm sure, that none of my favourite authors have anything out right now. If Greg Rucka had another Atticus Kodiak book or a Queen and Country novel coming out, I would be there. Or if Neal Stephenson, Neil Gaiman, Peter David, Christopher Moore, etc had something out.
And while Chapters and Amazon online have good selections, there is still nothing quite like spending an hour or two wandering around a bookstore, picking something up, reading it for a bit, and then deciding to either buy it or put it back. You can't get the same...feel up here. It's guesswork from the book's description or what critics say. And of all the many different forms of critics out there, book critics are generally the ones I trust the least. Far too many of them have their head up their ass.
Another part, I'm sure, is that Cathy is back around. I was going through a lot of books last year when she was in Rankin Inlet and I was in St. John's. I tend to read a lot when I'm alone and, thankfully, that isn't the case right now.
It could be just a phase and in a few weeks I'll be devouring books again. Or there could be something else going on. I've been having more fun writing in this blog than I have writing anything else in ages. It might be rough and raw and laced with grammatical errors, but it still feels good. It feels like it has a pulse, and I can't say that's always been the case in recent years. So perhaps that, combined with a shift in reading habits, something is trying to work itself out.
I have no idea what it is yet. I'm not about to say the dreaded "N" word (rhymes with hovel), but there is something happening here. I'm kind of curious to see what it is myself...
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2 comments:
I picked up two of Christopher Moore's books a few weeks ago and I've got to confess, I don't understand the rabid attraction. Amusing, certainly but The Lamb read like something a smartarse 12 year old could have written. The Stupidest Angel was a bit better. He is good at drawing characters but lousy at plotting and there's a smirk in his writing that sometimes gets to me. What in particular do you like about him?
I've not read C. Moore at all - since getting into law school, finding time to read fiction has been difficult, to say the least. Is that vampire novel you''ve been plotting a result of having read Moore's "Bloodsucking Fiends"?
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