I'm having one of those antsy periods when I just can't get into a book. Bruce Chatwin's 'What Am I Doing Here' is beautifully written but requires too much concentration right now, especially as it is a collection of essays that switch rapidly between locations and times. I'm half-way through but not really doing it justice.
So I picked up 'March' by Geraldine Brooks again, but it's not doing anything for me. The writing is too obvious and I find the central character intensely irritating.
Last night I flicked through the bookshelf in a desultory kind of way, looking for that 'perfect' book. I'm not sure what it is, but I'll know it when I see it. I need something plot-driven and all-consuming right now I think; something so compelling that stressful thoughts don't edge their way into my brain mid-paragraph, causing me to read and re-read each page. Soon I'll have the eureka moment and pick the right book for this moment in time and break through my reader's block.
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2 comments:
I think every reader can relate to this post. Picking a book largely depends on one's mood, doesn't it?
Yes, and I sometimes wonder which books I have unfairly dismissed simply because I read them at the wrong time...
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