Of Oprah and Book Clubs
I am not sure how I got sucked in, but I did.
Oprah is making me read Anna Karenina.
First, I gotta say that I love Oprah. I am addicted to Oprah. I trust that Oprah gives wise council.
If Oprah told me that I should eat more Chickpeas, I'd buy them by the case. If she told me that Orange really was the new blue, I'd paint my couch. If she told me to read Anna Karenina, I'd rush out and buy the special book club edition.
Wait. That actually happened. :)
The thing is that I am a reader. I read stuff. I read magazines. I read the Internet. I read billboads. I read cereal boxes. And, I read books, mysteries mostly these days, but I also dabble in contemporary literature. I've read my share of Pulitzer winners, of American Book Awardeds. I like a good book, a ripping yarn as my buddy John would say.
But--and this is huge--I'm not big on the classics. I managed a liberal arts degree without ever taking a lit class--don't ask how, I'm sure that it involved chicken's blood and an ancient artifact of some kind--and so am woefully inadequate when it comes to the classics. I read Ivanhoe in high school. I read Gatsby and The Three Musketeers in grad school--for fun, not for a class. But back then, I fancied myself a bit of an intellectual and those books reinforced that laughable image. I guess I read a little Shakespeare, now and then, but always preferred my Bard in the live action format--on the stage.
No, mostly, I read for pleasure and reading classics always seemed like work.
But I'm reading Anna Karenina, maybe because I think that doing hard things occasionally makes you a better person. Maybe because the book was mentioned in a Buffy/Giles story I was reading the other day and the synchronicity was too powerful to be denied. Maybe I'm just a hopeless fan-girl desperate for Oprah's approval.
Maybe--just maybe--I have lost my flipping mind.
I'll let you know how it shakes out.
Oprah is making me read Anna Karenina.
First, I gotta say that I love Oprah. I am addicted to Oprah. I trust that Oprah gives wise council.
If Oprah told me that I should eat more Chickpeas, I'd buy them by the case. If she told me that Orange really was the new blue, I'd paint my couch. If she told me to read Anna Karenina, I'd rush out and buy the special book club edition.
Wait. That actually happened. :)
The thing is that I am a reader. I read stuff. I read magazines. I read the Internet. I read billboads. I read cereal boxes. And, I read books, mysteries mostly these days, but I also dabble in contemporary literature. I've read my share of Pulitzer winners, of American Book Awardeds. I like a good book, a ripping yarn as my buddy John would say.
But--and this is huge--I'm not big on the classics. I managed a liberal arts degree without ever taking a lit class--don't ask how, I'm sure that it involved chicken's blood and an ancient artifact of some kind--and so am woefully inadequate when it comes to the classics. I read Ivanhoe in high school. I read Gatsby and The Three Musketeers in grad school--for fun, not for a class. But back then, I fancied myself a bit of an intellectual and those books reinforced that laughable image. I guess I read a little Shakespeare, now and then, but always preferred my Bard in the live action format--on the stage.
No, mostly, I read for pleasure and reading classics always seemed like work.
But I'm reading Anna Karenina, maybe because I think that doing hard things occasionally makes you a better person. Maybe because the book was mentioned in a Buffy/Giles story I was reading the other day and the synchronicity was too powerful to be denied. Maybe I'm just a hopeless fan-girl desperate for Oprah's approval.
Maybe--just maybe--I have lost my flipping mind.
I'll let you know how it shakes out.