Seriously, I thought I'd be posting all the time now that I have free time. But you know, my reading life has been seriously pathetic lately, and not only am I a little ashamed of it, it also leaves me with sadly little fodder for blogging.
So I'm still reading The Queen's Fool, by Philippa Gregory, but because I don't ride the train much, it doesn't make it out of my bag very often. In the waiting room at the optometrist (which sounds way more like "optimist" than my eyesight warrants) I'll probably get through another chunk, and now that I have lawn chairs, I'm hoping to read outside a bit this week. I need to get over my feeling that sitting outside in the shade doesn't count as enjoying the lovely outdoor weather--I just recognized this prejudice in myself, and I blame it on my family history of toiling in the fields all day. Sitting under a shade tree on the lawn just doesn't cut it.
Wow, two digressions in one short paragraph. Anyway, I'm puttering between three or four slow-moving books upstairs. It's quite possible that I'll be reading Star-Spangled Manners for the next couple of years, which is probably how it should be read, so I have no regrets there, except it's messing with my quotas. Children of God, which is the sequel to The Sparrow, by Mary Doria Russell, is not bad, but it's rich, and I think I jumped the gun when I started it. Also, it messes a little with the ending from the previous book, which makes me a little mistrustful.
I'm also reading Fisherman on the Inland Sea, which is a book of short stories by Ursula LeGuin, who I'm pretty fond of, actually. Her books are hit or miss for me, but when they hit I love them, because they do an excellent job of being very well-thought-out science fiction that is still very human-centered. I didn't love Wizard of Earthsea, though I liked it, but I did love The Tombs of Atuan, which I found haunting, partly because it seemed more "feminine." Anyway, this book of stories begins with a great essay about non-sci-fi readers, and what makes sci fi feel inaccessible to people, sometimes justifiably so. This is something I think about a good deal, and there are a few good essays about it out there, and the preface to this book is one of them. Most of the stories are very good, whether light or deeper, but the last few are getting too philosophical and tech-heavy for my full enjoyment.
So that's it. I've finished THREE books this month. Isn't that sad? We're more than halfway through, and I'm not near the end of anything. And that includes the audiobook I listened to! (Oh, I'm also listening to Rebecca, by Daphne DuMaurier, and who do the unabridged versions of audiobooks always have the worst readers and the hyper-abridged versions the best? Mike claims it's because good readers are expensive. Someone should hire me; I'm pretty good, if I do say so myself.)
I'm not even going to count the digressions herein contained. We'll call this a five book month and strive to make it so.