read at least one book a week

Started Cheri and The Last of Cheri by Collette

I haven’t read a book a week, that’s for sure, more like, a book every 4 weeks.
Terrable, I know.
I always have moments where I’m so bored I just repeat things I’ve already done, so I’ll try reading then.

I used to read like there was no tomorrow, back when I was 10 or 11.
Now at 13, I miss those days. Reading certainly helped me gain more academic achievments then I would have done by merely not reading.

I’m pretty happy with myself for today, so far I’ve read over 200 pages of a book since I woke up. The book in question Is Harry potter and the half blood prince (I was determined to keep in the loop about what was happening in Harry Potter) And as soon as I’ve finished that, which shall proberly be Monday some time, I’ll start The Deathly Hallows. Although, many jerks have spoiled the ending several times for me.

Nowadays, I have much spare time and nothing to do with it, so raeding has become my sanctuary and certainly a comforting one.

Last year free time was apparently so abundant that I was able to meet this goal in September. The final total was around sixty, not counting rereads. This year I suspect I haven’t even read ten. This may be the result of a few life changes, like moving to New Zealand to be with the person I love, but I’m still disappointed in myself. I started off well, with several books completed before the temp agency was able to place me, but I soon lost focus. I’ve begun a number of books with the best intentions and then taken too-long breaks and found myself disinclined to pick up where I’d left off.

Let me cite John Uri Lloyd’s relatively slender but bizarre 19th century mystic tract as an example. Part of me positively loves the strange prescience of Etidorhpa, but the descriptive passages alone could swallow a reader whole. It’s exhausting to read on account of its heaviness, which is why it’s still dog-eared only midway through. Maybe my current reading goal should be to finish before the end of the month. Today is dreary and blustery and I’m home sick – perhaps I should work on it now.

Most of my reading in the last couple of months has taken place on the bus. Naturally, I’ve selected a nine hundred-page book for this purpose. But what’s brilliant about Islandia is the world itself – the vividness of a place that never existed and the people who populate this imagined southern hemispherical land, the American narrator’s keen insight into his homeland and the sense of belonging he feels in Islandia even as his foreignness is pointed out to him again and again. I care deeply about everyone in this book because Austin Tappan Wright clearly loved this world, though he never intended it for publication. He created it as a child and returned regularly as a Harvard-educated lawyer, right up until his death in New Mexico in 1931. His widow and daughter ensured the publication of this masterpiece eleven years later. Four hundred pages left and I’m already looking forward to re-reading it.

The First Half of 2006Novelties & Souvenirs, John Crowley
Hard Words & Other Poems, Ursula K. Le Guin
Changing Planes, Ursula K. Le Guin
Buffalo Gals & Other Animal Presences, Ursula K. Le Guin
The Language of the Night, Ursula K. Le Guin
Maps of the Imagination, Peter Turchi
Lord Byron’s Novel: The Evening Land, John Crowley
Arcadia, Tom Stoppard
An Unfortunate Woman, Richard Brautigan

(Sad, huh?)