Funny . . . I changed that word at the last second--it had been "amazingly" . . . I was talking about reading Sir Walter Scott, and I was astonished that I could read IVANHOE, GUY MANNERING and WAVERLY without it seeming like a school assignment to be survived. I have found that you just have to surrender to the mind of the book, adjust your reading style to match it, and (though it's not really possible) put yourself in the place of a work's original reader. Now that you've mentioned COLD COMFORT FARM I think it's time for a re-read. There were a ton a good novels by English women in that period. I'm going to put up a post in a week or two about PERSEPHONE BOOKS, a publisher in Bath, England, that specializes in mid-century writers--great catalog. Thanks for the note.
Your focused reading is impressive. Much of my own reading is completely random and meandering, and sometimes that works out in amazing ways. I read Gilead because I had been waiting for it for a long, long time. Immediately after, I read The Known World. Now, there is a lot I could say about those two novels, but what struck me as I began my MFA program right after reading them was Gilead was dwelled in reflection with almost no scenes while The Known World was rapid-fire scenes with no reflection at all. A year or so ago, I deliberately read a book about Baba Yaga, and two more fell into my lap, then I moved on to something else and halfway realized it was also a Baba Yaga book. Some authors I read one title after another and might fall in love or abruptly out. Serendipity.
I do serendipity as well. Years ago I was headed to the men's room at the Flathead County Library and walking through the stacks a spine caught my eye: ELEVEN BLUE MEN by Berton Roueché (1953). How can you pass up a title like that? He wrote for THE NEW YORKER as it turned out, initiated the Annals of Medicine column. This book was the result of following the medical examiner around lower Manhattan. The title piece was about a cluster of old guys who turned up a several ERs cyanotic--I guess there were eleven of them. I could tell you why but then you wouldn't try to scare up a copy of the piece . . . Anyway, chance is good, too.
The word “astonishing” came up in your post. That is the word I apply to Cold Comfort Farm.
Funny . . . I changed that word at the last second--it had been "amazingly" . . . I was talking about reading Sir Walter Scott, and I was astonished that I could read IVANHOE, GUY MANNERING and WAVERLY without it seeming like a school assignment to be survived. I have found that you just have to surrender to the mind of the book, adjust your reading style to match it, and (though it's not really possible) put yourself in the place of a work's original reader. Now that you've mentioned COLD COMFORT FARM I think it's time for a re-read. There were a ton a good novels by English women in that period. I'm going to put up a post in a week or two about PERSEPHONE BOOKS, a publisher in Bath, England, that specializes in mid-century writers--great catalog. Thanks for the note.
Your focused reading is impressive. Much of my own reading is completely random and meandering, and sometimes that works out in amazing ways. I read Gilead because I had been waiting for it for a long, long time. Immediately after, I read The Known World. Now, there is a lot I could say about those two novels, but what struck me as I began my MFA program right after reading them was Gilead was dwelled in reflection with almost no scenes while The Known World was rapid-fire scenes with no reflection at all. A year or so ago, I deliberately read a book about Baba Yaga, and two more fell into my lap, then I moved on to something else and halfway realized it was also a Baba Yaga book. Some authors I read one title after another and might fall in love or abruptly out. Serendipity.
I do serendipity as well. Years ago I was headed to the men's room at the Flathead County Library and walking through the stacks a spine caught my eye: ELEVEN BLUE MEN by Berton Roueché (1953). How can you pass up a title like that? He wrote for THE NEW YORKER as it turned out, initiated the Annals of Medicine column. This book was the result of following the medical examiner around lower Manhattan. The title piece was about a cluster of old guys who turned up a several ERs cyanotic--I guess there were eleven of them. I could tell you why but then you wouldn't try to scare up a copy of the piece . . . Anyway, chance is good, too.
I will check the library.