The e-reader was responsible for my first two pieces of library loot: Wild by Cheryl Strayed and On the Beach by Neville Shute. A friend had told me Wild was a great read, but I might find it a little difficult. On The Beach, a post-apocayptic novel published in 1957 included on a Web list of "interesting books."
I was excited and determined. I had chosen for my book club A Visit from the Goon Squad, which I had purchased months ago at the last library book sale. A Lion Among Men and The Gun Seller were gifts I had received much too long ago and had to be read tout de suite.
A Map of the Sky was a pleasant surprise from a last-minute stop at Barnes and Noble. Chi Running was a Goodwill find that would help me keep running from hurting as much as it has lately.
By Tuesday, my stack had changed:
The first two e-books didn't last long. I lost patience with Shute, whose writing was dispassionate to the point of apathy, as he fell in love with submarines and referred to an infant girl as "it." The beautifully written Wild included a description of loss was too much for me (and again proved Kathy's instincts flawless).
In their place went a new library book: The Night Circus, which I read last year and truly enjoyed — but I needed to re-read for my book club.
I had received a second library book: The Lucky Gourd Shop, the current book club book. (My choice, third from the bottom, won't be discussed until mid-February. I have a little time, thank heavens.)
Three new new books are stacked in the middle: The Woman Who Died a Lot, the latest Jasper Fforde Thursday Next novel I'm reading with Carole; Wolf Hall, so I may read her second prize-winning novel I received for Christmas; and Crooked Letter, Crooked Letter, recommended by my friend Stephanie.
How many have I started? Six.
However, since Tuesday, I have been actively reading only three: The Night Circus, The Lucky Gourd Shop and The Woman Who Died a Lot. Mostly The Woman Who Died a Lot. It's Jasper Fforde and Thursday Next — can you blame me?
I have one bit of delicious irony: I am using someone's discarded library card as a bookmark in Fforde's book. If you have read it, you will understand. (If you haven't read any of Fforde's Thursday Next novels, start immediately with The Eyre Affair, a fantastic book with the perfect first line. You're welcome.)