book #1

[realthog]

Everyone in the world, plus their auntie, seems to be posting about their plans to read at least 50 books in 2008. My first reaction to this was: "Only 50?"

However, in the small hours of this morning, cursing my recurrent insomnia, I for the first time in 2008 finished reading a book. And, I dunno, the bug came along and bit me, or something. If I keep up the habit of making a public record of my reading -- something by no means guaranteed, especially if I find myself perusing Swedish Nurses Do Dallas or whatever (purely for, er, research purposes, you understand) -- I'm not planning to write reviews or even reviewettes of them all, as other folk seem to be doing.

Further, I've become much more ruthless recently about abandoning books if, after the first 100 pages or so, I'm finding them unrewarding. I suppose I should have a policy as to whether these, too, should be recorded.

Anyway, buke #1 for 2008 has been Harps in the Wind (1945) by Robert Hichens; I was reading a copy of the US edition, retitled The Woman in the House (the original UK title is far more appropriate), that I think I picked up at World Fantasycon this year. It's printed on that wartime economy paper for which I've always been a sucker. The book's a supernatural romance involving a couple brought together because she yearns so much for a man who was kind to her during her adolescence that, in much later life, she unwittingly draws his astral projection to her. He experiences these events as strange dreams, and ya-de-da-de-da-da.

In fact the whole tale could have been told quite easily as a short story -- or, if one wanted to create a bit of yer atmosphere thingie, a novelette -- and I spent much of the time wanting to throw the book at the wall as Hichens's indescribably prissy narrator flanneled around in all directions for pages on end when he could have told us something in a sentence. The novel does have its moments, though; overall, worth reading.

** The new book I've started (also in the small hours of this morning) is Last Rituals (2007) by Yrsa Sigurdardottir, translated from the Icelandic -- sounds pretty damn' posh, eh? -- by Bernard Scudder.

** For another perspective: pds_lit has posted her views on the Hichens novel at http://pds-lit.livejournal.com/14935.html.

Comments

[quietselkie.livejournal.com]

You would think that, since I own and work in a bookshop, I'd read more than 50 books a year, easily.

Not so. I read catalogs ABOUT books, instead. And internet posts ABOUT books. And many bloggy things. And LiveJournal. And three million emails.

So the quantity of things I've read is no doubt much higher than 50 books, but actual books completed--right about that. In 2007 I read to the bitter end 52 books that I tracked in a spreadsheet, including six novel-length drafts I edited for others. There were 30 others I started and discarded, or only browsed for research.



What is it about the wartime economy paper that you're so fond of?

[thisplacehere.livejournal.com]

Ah, so you're having a go at it, too. Well, if you felt inclined to throw a book that was worth reading at the wall, I shudder to think what you'd do to a bad one...

[quilterbear.livejournal.com]

I have a 50 page rule. If I am not enjoying or engaged in a book by page 50, out it goes. I find that life is too short to read books I don't like. That has changed my reading list considerably, as most of them are given high marks -- simply because the lower marks never made it to the list of "read."

I do hope to read 50 books this year, but it really doesn't matter that much to me. I enjoy the journey. I read 38 in 2007 and 47 in 2008, so I'm upping my list a bit. And those are full books, not novelettes or short stories.

Also, my parents had an Ellery Queen on their shelves. One of THREE books that were on their shelf... how can I possibly genetically related to them? I have millions of books... well, slight exaggeration, but not much.

Ruthless abandonment

[rou-killingtime.livejournal.com]

I'm with you 100% on the policy of putting down any book that either is irritating, or just downright fails to entertain. I got two-thirds of the way through Catch-22 (having enjoyed the first half of the book immensely) before putting it down in disgust. I've no idea what Heller was thinking in the latter part of the book, but I found I was no longer looking forward to reading any further part of it.

Then there was Bram Stoker's Dracula, which struck me as a prime example of style over substance. I like to have both style *and* substance, but if I have to choose one, I'll take the substance, thanks.

I came very close to putting down the third part of the Lord of the Rings, trilogy as I found reading the (seemingly) hundreds of pages of slogging around in the wilderness of Mordor with nothing actually happening to be a tedious chore indeed.