After a decade of wanting to read nonfiction almost entirely, I've been reading novels. And nonfiction storybooks. Some of them are serious, but it's still such a delight, like nibbling on marzipan.Hm. I guess what's most delightful about reading "even the serious ones"
is that I DON'T HAVE TO WRITE A BOOK ABOUT THEM!!!
*levitates briefly*
Serious, like Damon Galgut's The Impostor. According to the Guardian's review:
"In one sense, it is a conventional crime caper, the story of an innocent man who gets sucked into a world that he doesn't understand. In another, it is a critique of contemporary South Africa, a country that, as Galgut depicts it, is beset by cruelty and a spirit of brutish materialism."
Speaking of brutish materialism, not pictured (because it's lying on the floor by my bed) is the novel I'm currently reading: The Way We Live Now, by Anthony Trollope. With a only a little bit of adaptation, it could easily be updated as a story about our recent economic and other -ic charlatans.
Fun post! Too brain dead from doing taxes to think about it... if I push too hard I'll send my brain into cryperia.
ReplyDeleteYes, cryperia is my word verification.
BINK: I wonder if your frazzled brain meant this comment for the "fun post" below (the networking images)?
ReplyDeleteClassic example of cryperia.