I was at a book talk tonight. The journalist who talked about “books that had been important in his life” was funny and made most of the books sound interesting.
The problem was that I have read some of the books he talked about. And I did not like them at all. The first one he talked about was Catcher in the rye. Back when we read this in English class in high school the class was almost 50-50 divided on it – the girls couldn’t stand it, and the boys loved it.
But trying to think what books have been important in my life is not easy.
I read a ton of books. My living room is full of books. I’ve taken to buying books electronically that I think I won’t share with the sisters, just because of space issues. I read quickly, and I have always done this. Back in middle school and high school I did the classics voluntarily (and some for class.) Ibsen and Shakespeare. I also had a period where I read even more super-serious books about WWII, which, in retrospect, was not a good thing for someone with an over-active imagination.
These days I’m sticking to my pulpy, comedy, romance and fantasy and the happy ever after. Much better for my state of mind.
If I want depressing reality, I can read the news.
