Okay. Last time I said I didn’t intend to finish On Chesil Beach. I said that I’m 67 and don’t want to read about bad sex. All I want to do is remember good sex, and the older I get the better it was. But I read it anyway. Here’s my take: Read the rest of this entry »
There’s always someone at the party who never admits he hasn’t read a book. You mention The Romance of the Rose, and he nods knowingly and gazes out the window as though transported. And too often these guys get the girl. Deeply annoying. On the other side of the page, an old friend of mine who still plugs away as a college lit. professor once said that his job is not to read the great books, it’s only to know what’s in some of them. An honest man, and all he got was divorced.
As I age like fine wine, I’m less and less compelled to finish a book. Here are a few I’ve abandoned: Read the rest of this entry »
