Here's a quick summary of my summer reading materials: four characters in the last three books have hanged themselves. (And yes, my summer reading experience has been just as emotionally-exacting as it sounds).
It goes like this: every morning, I get on the train, trying to cheerfully juggle my lunch, coffee mug, purse and water bottle - all while wearing heels. Yes, I'm up at an ungodly hour, and no, I am not yet making enough money to fund my lavish shoe-and-travel-tastes, but ultimately, life is good. By the end of my 45-minute train ride, however, I have been thoroughly traumatized by my apparent magnetism for darker plot lines. (My current read has not yet offered up suicide number five, but with malaria, star-crossed lovers and political unrest, it's an ideal template). The books have all been amazing, don't get me wrong, but somehow I can't quite switch gears that often first thing in the morning (breakfast with Dad, Nigerian immigrant suicide in British farmhouse (reading on train), Dig team meeting, British journalist suicide in his study (reading during lunch), writing some press releases and home for dinner). At the very least, I should be reading these books in the privacy of my home, instead of tearing up next to the unsuspecting commuter next to me.
So, I'm determined to make a reading-material-switch. I'm on track to finish The Poisonwood Bible tonight, and I need to find something new for my train rides tomorrow. Instead of leaving it until two minutes after I should have been rushing out the door (as per usual - and then somehow getting stuck grabbing a literary gem, chock full of suicide and a day's worth of in-work depression), I am going to preemptively buy a happy book from the bookstore.
This one popped up as a recommendation with my Border's Rewards coupon today: Juliet. This sort of cross-generational love story (with a mystery-to-be-solved twist) seems unlikely to contain genocide, rape or characters reaching for the rope. I anticipate happily riding the train while my main character falls in love with the contessa's son, and if it all goes horribly wrong, I'll back here with mascara-stained cheeks, demanding book suggestions.
It goes like this: every morning, I get on the train, trying to cheerfully juggle my lunch, coffee mug, purse and water bottle - all while wearing heels. Yes, I'm up at an ungodly hour, and no, I am not yet making enough money to fund my lavish shoe-and-travel-tastes, but ultimately, life is good. By the end of my 45-minute train ride, however, I have been thoroughly traumatized by my apparent magnetism for darker plot lines. (My current read has not yet offered up suicide number five, but with malaria, star-crossed lovers and political unrest, it's an ideal template). The books have all been amazing, don't get me wrong, but somehow I can't quite switch gears that often first thing in the morning (breakfast with Dad, Nigerian immigrant suicide in British farmhouse (reading on train), Dig team meeting, British journalist suicide in his study (reading during lunch), writing some press releases and home for dinner). At the very least, I should be reading these books in the privacy of my home, instead of tearing up next to the unsuspecting commuter next to me.
So, I'm determined to make a reading-material-switch. I'm on track to finish The Poisonwood Bible tonight, and I need to find something new for my train rides tomorrow. Instead of leaving it until two minutes after I should have been rushing out the door (as per usual - and then somehow getting stuck grabbing a literary gem, chock full of suicide and a day's worth of in-work depression), I am going to preemptively buy a happy book from the bookstore.
This one popped up as a recommendation with my Border's Rewards coupon today: Juliet. This sort of cross-generational love story (with a mystery-to-be-solved twist) seems unlikely to contain genocide, rape or characters reaching for the rope. I anticipate happily riding the train while my main character falls in love with the contessa's son, and if it all goes horribly wrong, I'll back here with mascara-stained cheeks, demanding book suggestions.
No comments:
Post a Comment