Aug 04, 2007 00:50
An excerpt from "Summer of the Woodpecker":
I cannot remember their names, but I can still see them: those bronze goddesses with freckled shoulders. Six or seven girls-women, they seemed at the time-who spent their days upon fluorescent beach towels, silently soaking up the rays of the sun. They tanned to a radiant honey-brown, while my milky skin scorched pink. I would fabricate excuses to walk past them. Gazing at the concrete, I stumbled along as I searched for my non-existent glasses. Or I strutted past, whistling, change chattering in my palm as I went for my third or fourth Coke of the day. These charades probably went unnoticed, but I still felt I was risking an unfathomable amount of humiliation for a momentary whiff of coconut suntan lotion. And why wouldn’t I? These were high school girls.
This summer I have read "A Room of One’s Own," "Anna Karenina," "Dr. Faustus," "Middlesex," "Moby-Dick," "The Iliad," "The Cherry Orchard," "Invisible Man," "Pastoralia," "A Good Man is Hard to Find," "A Piece of My Heart," and "Carry Me Across the Water." Next I'm going to read "The World According to Garp."
Tell me I have accomplished something. Recommend a few books. Knit me something warm.
I felt like capitalizing.