Tales from the Steppes

2005-07-27

9:08 a.m.
Wednesday, July 27

What day is it
And in what month
this clock never seemed so alive
- Lifehouse

Last night I spent a fairly blissful hour sitting in a comfy chair, drinking a glass of wine, reading my favorite book. Everyone else was asleep in the house and all was quiet, except for the SU's snoring. The only reason I was still up was that I had drank a little too much DDP while working on my fecis (the union of thesis and feces) and was a little too wired.

I was especially happy because this was the first time in more than 5 months I had gotten to read my favorite book, Little, Big. I had loaned out (pressed upon others) all three copies, different editions, to various friends and had actually been contemplating buying yet another copy. Pretty pathetic but since I usually cannot remember to whom I have loaned books, it seems like an easier solution than asking around. I also would never want to take the book back from someone who was enjoying it.

As I sat reading, I was struck once again with the quality of the writing. I have to confess that often when I am reading a book and the author goes into some long description, I just skip through it and try to grok the high points. Even with Tolkein I'll do that. I have my own imagination and it generally works better than any author's words at painting an image. If you give me just enough to evoke the desired sensory picture, I will gladly do the rest of the work. It seems that too many authors have forgottten the difference between books and movies. The exception to the above might just be Guy Gavriel Kay.

When I was younger (ie. in college) I was naive enough to think that The Man of My Dreams would be someone who would read this book and immediately get it. Forget tall, dark and handsome. Give me whatever, whatever and whatever and able to not merely finish the book but also love it. A foolish thought. I know that there are many others out there that love this book, many of them critics and reviewers. But none have been men that I have ever met. In fact, the comment I have usually gotten is that the person could not figure out what the book was actually about and nothing ever really happened in it anyway. No action to speak of.

Nope. No real point here. Just musing.