In summer I make up for my slackness during the rest of the year by having marathon reading sessions. I read in the garden, on the beach, in the park, on the sofa during the heat of the day, and late into the night if it’s a rippin’ good yarn.This year I started with the tome “The Pillars of the Earth” by Ken Follett. Set in the 12th century, Pillars tells the story of a stonemason and his family building a (fictitious) English cathederal, against a backdrop of politics, religion and war. Meticulously researched, extremely bloodthirsty in places (there were six pages of a bear-baiting scene I could not read), overall it gets a thumbs up.
Next, something completely different “Another Bullshit Night in SuckCity” by Nick Flynn. Reminds me why I love American literature. Semi-autobiographical, adult Nick builds a relationship with his homeless father.
SuckCity inspired me to re-read my copy of “The Catcher in the Rye” by J.D. Salinger, picked up in a bookstore in San Francisco for a dollar. It’s exciting to think there may be more to come from Salinger, hidden away for all these years.
Finally, I returned to the 12th century with “Rubaiyat (Poetry) of Omar Khayyam”, a little suede-bound book I found amongst my grandmothers’ possessions, with a handwritten dedication inside the cover to “Little Jimmy” (my long-gone uncle, perhaps?)
