I think I might not be in the right headspace for some of these Major Reads I've bitten off. The Nine is interesting, but I read in fits and snatches, and I really think this requires more sustained time commitment. I have a bunch of novels out, but many of them are ambitious reads: American Wife, The Book of Night Women, books that are either going to require attention to appreciate or, God help us, just a huge time investment.
Interestingly, Intern, about the navel-gazing, self-doubting young doctor in training, seems to be peering into my soul and reporting back to me. I wish I had what it takes to be a doctor--apparently so does the narrator, the difference being that he tried. But his self-doubt, his inability to decide what he wants, to be inspired--even just the plain old sense he has that there's a right answer about what to do with your life that he hasn't found yet...well, they are the province of the young, and the confused. I'm not immune to these things.
He's going through some rough times in the part I'm reading, and it's interesting that he describes them exactly the way I would describe some of my own difficulties. I think it's interesting how you sometimes run across something like that, totally accidentally, just at a time when it speaks to what's going on in your own life. I don't believe in fate or anything like that, but sometimes it just all comes together.
Like the time I was reading two books at the same time that both had a character named Stanislaus--one was an alias, the other a nun. Seriously, what are the odds?
I don't think I'm being quite coherent, and for that I apologize. Better later, honest.
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