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Reading
2007-03-02 - 10:27 a.m. You know how sometimes you are reading a book and it is so fabulous that you have to keep reading and reading and reading, even though you know that reading will only bring you closer to the end, and then the book will be done and you will be bereft? Well, I am reading two books, and neither one is like that at all. My name is Red is fine. It's just fine to read, but it's fine to put it down, too, and I'm fine with reading it for 5 minutes on the bus. Also, I get the whole thing about how you can either paint like Allah sees, or else like people see, which is then, possibly, putting people in the place of Allah, and that is sort of interesting, really interesting, actually, but I think we could use a little more of people seeing in this book, because Allah seems to see people in a sort of generic way which makes everything kind of flat. I can't really help it -- I'm more interested in a drawing of a horse that looks like certain, specific horse than in a drawing that looks like the idea of a horse. I think, that is. I think I'm more interested in the real than the ideal. Frankly, I think the ideal is a bit of a waste of time. ... or do I? Gone with the Wind is fine, too, but I have the feeling that the further I read along, the more terrible things Scarlet is going to do, and since I sort of like her, I'm a little bit sorry about that, and not exactly eager to rush into reading about those terrible things. In fact, I think I could probably just stop reading it now -- I know sort of what it's about, I've skipped around enough to have read all the important bits, I think, and I could just spare myself the agony. Perhaps I will do that. But then what will I read? My head hurts, too. Okay -- I think that's it --
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