Just to poke another finger in the eye of those whose literary lives consist entirely of summer reading lists, I thought I’d demonstrate that it’s quite possible to pick up a book in the off-season. Plus, what with the chill in the air and the early onset of darkness, what better way to spend an evening than with a good book?
- Been working my way through Raymond Carver’s short stories—when you read one at a time, it’s not unlike rationing m&ms—over the last month or so. Sherman Alexie clearly owes a debt to the man; but then, I suppose anyone writing short stories these days owes something to Mr. Carver.
- Instead of turning to H. P. Lovecraft this Halloween (which I recommend to anyone), I read Algernon Blackwood’s The Willows, which can be found here in its entirety. Very creepy.
- I also, finally, cracked open Dracula. Never read it before. So far, so good. Makes me want to trek across the Carpathians. The version I have includes an introduction in which all sorts of post-modern nonsense is ascribed to Stoker’s narrative. Yawn.