I'm finding it a bit difficult to get back into the swing of blogging after such a lovely, relaxing few weeks off. So you'll have to put up with this bit of stream of consciousness. Sorry!
I'm usually a one-book girl, but this week, I've gone crazy and started reading FOUR books all at once. I'd started reading The Brightest Star In the Sky by Marian Keyes earlier in the week, but the unusual narrator put me off just the teensiest bit. I adore Marian Keyes, but I just didn't get what this weird thing floating through the apartment spying on the occupants is all about.
So I picked up Nation by Terry Pratchett, which I'm already in love with. Who knew I'd become such a Terry Pratchett fan? And after only reading one other book of his? I've been trying to read Nation in bits throughout the day as I'm sort of anxious to get back to it. It's funny and wise and it has such a wonderful main character who has such strength about him. In fact all of the characters are done so well. I applaud you, Terry Pratchett.
But! My copy of Nation has about 400 pages, The Brightest Star in the Sky has about 600 and lengthy books always scare me slightly, so I picked up Close Range: Wyoming Stories by Annie Proulx and I figured I could read a short story here and there to feel like I'm making some sort of progress. I've already finished the first story about an old man returning to his home after many years and it swept me away like I hadn't been expecting. The thing that I had forgotten is that my paternal grandmother lived a great deal of her life in Wyoming. I visited her at least once there before she died. As I was reading that first short story I felt like there was this fragile little connection between me and my grandma. Or possibly that I'm losing my mind. Either is likely.
Also, in a wonderful turn of events, N bought me some books for Christmas, one of which is Dear Me: A Letter to My Sixteen-Year-Old Self and one lazy afternoon, I started flicking through it and couldn't stop. I think all of this talk about the end of the decade has made me more prone to nostalgia. Granted, it's been 12 years since I was 16, but 16 is such a big year for most people, isn't it? It was for me. So many major events. When I do finally getting around to reviewing this book, expect to find my own letter to my 16 year old self. I'm writing it in my head already.
If only there were more hours in the day so that I could read all the books I'd like... Wouldn't that be great? Which books are you spending your time with?