Mar. 13th, 2020 09:25 am
Reading in the time of corona
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muckefuckMy reading feels like it's barely proceeding, mainly because I'm dividing my attention so much. I'm still reading Un nos ola leuad (having finally pushed through the central chapter in Literary Welsh), but I'm lucky to finish a couple of pages a night. I added my Hawai'ian textbook to my Goodreads to encourage me to work through it, but I seldom tackle more than one lesson per day. And I put off finishing the Flaubert because the last story is Easter-themed.
I have had one notable recent success: a friend of mine lent me Oliver Sacks' autobiography which I found hard to put down. I only learned upon his death that he was a big ol' 'mo but I had no idea he was also a hardcore biker and drug addict at the same time. Frustratingly, he reports giving up on sex from the age of 40 to 75 but never really tells us why. But the overview of his publications and the evolution of his thinking over the years is fascinating and, for the most part, well integrated with the biographical details.
Now, in response to the current malaise, I've drug El amor en los tiempos de cólera out of the dusty shelves in the back room. I thought I remembered the general plot of it from García Márquez' recounting of his parents' courtship in Vivir para contarla but so far I'm still just in the prologue and it's all new. We'll see if I really do read more during this period of "social distancing" or if my stircraziness prompts me to waste even more time on social media.
I have had one notable recent success: a friend of mine lent me Oliver Sacks' autobiography which I found hard to put down. I only learned upon his death that he was a big ol' 'mo but I had no idea he was also a hardcore biker and drug addict at the same time. Frustratingly, he reports giving up on sex from the age of 40 to 75 but never really tells us why. But the overview of his publications and the evolution of his thinking over the years is fascinating and, for the most part, well integrated with the biographical details.
Now, in response to the current malaise, I've drug El amor en los tiempos de cólera out of the dusty shelves in the back room. I thought I remembered the general plot of it from García Márquez' recounting of his parents' courtship in Vivir para contarla but so far I'm still just in the prologue and it's all new. We'll see if I really do read more during this period of "social distancing" or if my stircraziness prompts me to waste even more time on social media.
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