2005 so far seems to be turning out to be my year of reading, and I have one thing to thank for it.
When younger I read voraciously and almost omnivorously, as happy hoovering up some pulp fantasy and sci-fi as ploughing through The Gulag Archipelago, an encyclopaedia of global migration or books of British Birds (Temminck's Stint, Jim; your go). I was a discerning reader in that I knew what I liked, and I liked a lot. Recent years have seen me go somewhat sour on the whole joy of reading deal, this state of affairs arrising due to an unholy conjunction of critical faculties developing late in the day, a desire to look cool in front of girls (so no books with "Dragons" in the title) and my own twin burgeoning careers in writing and catering leading me to read only "relevant" books (keeping up with what the poets and chefs are up to these days).
Then our television broke at the start of December.
Now, as regular Coastalblog readers will doubtless be aware, I rarely have time to do anything other than sleep in December, and Mrs Coastaltown being the dedicated sort that the is most of her evenings are spent researching and thinking about teaching, so we didn't get it fixed, or replaced. It sits there now, mute and sullen in the corner of the living room. Radio 4 and the internet provides the news, this computer's DVD drive the entertainment. When I'm not reading, that is. This year has also seen me polish off a re-read of Thomas Pynchon's Mason and Dixon (which rewarded a re-read in ways I'd never expected; the, it seemed to me on first reading wilfully dense mesh of absurd metanarratives and a preponderance of knowingly bad gags yielded up a genuinely rollicking treat. I don't wish to sound like a gushing reviewer or a dry postgrad so I'll go no further than to say it was enormous fun) as well as Anthony Bourdain's a Cook's Tour (pretty much as enjoyable a slice of gastro-tourism as I'd expected). Now I'm three-quarters of the way through Cod, pausing only to write this. When I'm done hopefully the copy of Gombrowicz's Trans-Atlantyk I have on order will have arrived...
One thing all these books have in common is that they aren't at the cutting edge of publishing, from the publication date of the most recent one I am about four years behind at the moment. A bunch of catchup to do before I can mix it with those more dilgent than I on I Love Books (a forum which should also take some credit for reigniting my interest in print). So the telly's staying broken.
When younger I read voraciously and almost omnivorously, as happy hoovering up some pulp fantasy and sci-fi as ploughing through The Gulag Archipelago, an encyclopaedia of global migration or books of British Birds (Temminck's Stint, Jim; your go). I was a discerning reader in that I knew what I liked, and I liked a lot. Recent years have seen me go somewhat sour on the whole joy of reading deal, this state of affairs arrising due to an unholy conjunction of critical faculties developing late in the day, a desire to look cool in front of girls (so no books with "Dragons" in the title) and my own twin burgeoning careers in writing and catering leading me to read only "relevant" books (keeping up with what the poets and chefs are up to these days).
Then our television broke at the start of December.
Now, as regular Coastalblog readers will doubtless be aware, I rarely have time to do anything other than sleep in December, and Mrs Coastaltown being the dedicated sort that the is most of her evenings are spent researching and thinking about teaching, so we didn't get it fixed, or replaced. It sits there now, mute and sullen in the corner of the living room. Radio 4 and the internet provides the news, this computer's DVD drive the entertainment. When I'm not reading, that is. This year has also seen me polish off a re-read of Thomas Pynchon's Mason and Dixon (which rewarded a re-read in ways I'd never expected; the, it seemed to me on first reading wilfully dense mesh of absurd metanarratives and a preponderance of knowingly bad gags yielded up a genuinely rollicking treat. I don't wish to sound like a gushing reviewer or a dry postgrad so I'll go no further than to say it was enormous fun) as well as Anthony Bourdain's a Cook's Tour (pretty much as enjoyable a slice of gastro-tourism as I'd expected). Now I'm three-quarters of the way through Cod, pausing only to write this. When I'm done hopefully the copy of Gombrowicz's Trans-Atlantyk I have on order will have arrived...
One thing all these books have in common is that they aren't at the cutting edge of publishing, from the publication date of the most recent one I am about four years behind at the moment. A bunch of catchup to do before I can mix it with those more dilgent than I on I Love Books (a forum which should also take some credit for reigniting my interest in print). So the telly's staying broken.
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