Reboot
Hello.
It's been a while. Nearly two months. Here I am.
The past two months have been extraordinarily busy; The play that I'm assistant directing opens in less than two weeks. It's been an occasionally rewarding, occasionally frustrating experience. Perhaps I shall do a greater evaluation after some time has passed. At this moment, I'm far too involved in the process to comment accurately.
After the show opens on February 12th, I'm heading back to CA to spend a week with the family. A much needed vacation. Then, back to New York on February 21st to try to find some way to pay my March rent, as I'll be out of a job. I do not relish the prospect of going back to office-type work, despite how well it pays. We shall see.
I've made a rule for myself that I'm going to read more "classic" literature this year. I read almost exclusively modern fiction, with a non-fiction book thrown in every now and again. That means that I'm hopelessly ignorant when it comes to the pillars of Western literature. I've not read any Austen, Bronte (either of them), Defoe, or Fitzgerald. I've not read any novel by Mark Twain. I've read a ton of William Faulkner (thank you Mrs. McCreadie!), but no Nabakov. So. I've decided that every other book I read has to be something that I wouldn't pick up as a matter of course. In conjunction with this decision, I want to keep better track of what I read this year, so that I have a record of my reading year. As January comes to a close, I suppose it's time to put that in my journal. My livejournal.
Here's what I read in January, 2006
The People of Paper, by Salvador Plascencia
Consider the Lobster, and Other Essays, by David Foster Wallace (nonfiction)
How to Be Alone: Essays, by Jonathan Franzen (nonfiction, abandoned -- too much whining)
The Russian Debutante's Handbook, by Gary Shteyngart (the worst titled novel ever, but exceptionally good)
The Meaning of Everything: The Story of the Oxford English Dictionary, by Simon Winchester (nonfiction, self-congratulatory)
Ghostwritten, by David Mitchell (wow. double wow, even. Mitchell is now one of my three favorite writers alive)
So as you can see, January was heavy heavy heavy in modern fiction, with some modern nonfiction thrown in. Well, I've reversed course! My first choice for "classic" is
One Hundred Years of Solitude, by Gabriel Garcia Marquez
I'm just over 100 pages in, and HOLY COW it's good. Wow wow wow wow wow. I also realize that a book published in 1967 is really pushing it as far as "classic" goes, but I think it counts for several reasons including
a) I'm also going to try to get over my discomfort reading translated books;
b) If I didn't read it soon, my friend Sofija was going to garrote me with a length of string.
I'd be happy to take recommendations along the lines of "Move "Jane Eyre" to the top of the classics list!" or "Avoid Hawthorne like the plague!" or "Why the hell do you only read books written by white men?"
Hope everyone's well.
It's been a while. Nearly two months. Here I am.
The past two months have been extraordinarily busy; The play that I'm assistant directing opens in less than two weeks. It's been an occasionally rewarding, occasionally frustrating experience. Perhaps I shall do a greater evaluation after some time has passed. At this moment, I'm far too involved in the process to comment accurately.
After the show opens on February 12th, I'm heading back to CA to spend a week with the family. A much needed vacation. Then, back to New York on February 21st to try to find some way to pay my March rent, as I'll be out of a job. I do not relish the prospect of going back to office-type work, despite how well it pays. We shall see.
I've made a rule for myself that I'm going to read more "classic" literature this year. I read almost exclusively modern fiction, with a non-fiction book thrown in every now and again. That means that I'm hopelessly ignorant when it comes to the pillars of Western literature. I've not read any Austen, Bronte (either of them), Defoe, or Fitzgerald. I've not read any novel by Mark Twain. I've read a ton of William Faulkner (thank you Mrs. McCreadie!), but no Nabakov. So. I've decided that every other book I read has to be something that I wouldn't pick up as a matter of course. In conjunction with this decision, I want to keep better track of what I read this year, so that I have a record of my reading year. As January comes to a close, I suppose it's time to put that in my journal. My livejournal.
Here's what I read in January, 2006
The People of Paper, by Salvador Plascencia
Consider the Lobster, and Other Essays, by David Foster Wallace (nonfiction)
How to Be Alone: Essays, by Jonathan Franzen (nonfiction, abandoned -- too much whining)
The Russian Debutante's Handbook, by Gary Shteyngart (the worst titled novel ever, but exceptionally good)
The Meaning of Everything: The Story of the Oxford English Dictionary, by Simon Winchester (nonfiction, self-congratulatory)
Ghostwritten, by David Mitchell (wow. double wow, even. Mitchell is now one of my three favorite writers alive)
So as you can see, January was heavy heavy heavy in modern fiction, with some modern nonfiction thrown in. Well, I've reversed course! My first choice for "classic" is
One Hundred Years of Solitude, by Gabriel Garcia Marquez
I'm just over 100 pages in, and HOLY COW it's good. Wow wow wow wow wow. I also realize that a book published in 1967 is really pushing it as far as "classic" goes, but I think it counts for several reasons including
a) I'm also going to try to get over my discomfort reading translated books;
b) If I didn't read it soon, my friend Sofija was going to garrote me with a length of string.
I'd be happy to take recommendations along the lines of "Move "Jane Eyre" to the top of the classics list!" or "Avoid Hawthorne like the plague!" or "Why the hell do you only read books written by white men?"
Hope everyone's well.