In my quest to write a lot of crap, I realized that my reading consists largely of non-fiction, with a small sprinkling of fiction.
While there’s nothing wrong with that, I intend to aim for a bigger helping of fiction. I get kind of wound up inside myself on the subject, however; while I love reading, somewhere along the line I got the idea that I’m wasting my time if I read a book I don’t like, and I’d rather not waste my time. I like to finish books I start; I can think of only one book I’ve never finished: The Wings of the Dove, by Henry James, and I’m not sure anyone could pay me to give it another go. This is one time I was grateful for the movie.
Related to the Wasting My Time Problem is the A Prayer for Owen Meany Problem. A Prayer for Owen Meany is a book John Irving will never be able to top. I held onto this opinion for years, and it kept me from reading anything he wrote afterwards. I kept telling myself that not only was the idea complete nonsense, it’s a burden no writer should ever have to carry. Two years ago I broke down and read Until I Find You, and it was good. It doesn’t hold the same place held by A Prayer for Owen Meany, but it was good.
Here and there I’ll read a recommendation for a book and then I’ll add them to my list; both Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell and Bel Canto (which I’m still reading) came to me that way.
I’m still taking recommendations, but I’m also going to start checking out more fiction from the library.
Posted by on Wednesday, September 3, 2008 at 6:42 PM
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