2005-05-18 - 4:28 p.m.
So, also, my book group met last night. It was quite a busy night, actually. Kevin was talking to Rob about building our wall-and-fence. Maddy was finishing up her paper on Medieval Feasts. Nora was studying for Latin and also writing the rough draft of her paper on the death penalty. And my book group was meeting in my living room (which I had vacuumed!) It was nice actually -- we'd read Sixpence House, by Paul Collins, which I recommend. At first I thought -- oh, god, another stupid book by one of those McSweeney's people about his interesting and quirky life. But actually, it was good. There's not a lot of plot. They move to Wales, try to buy a house, fail to buy a house, move to Oregon. Sort of a year in Provence where they don't buy the falling apart house. But he's pathologically interested in books, and it ends up to be a book about books -- old books; books that no one reads anymore; little bits from books that no one reads anymore; new books; his book; conventions of book covers. For a certain sort of person, this is a book about life itself, really. It was good.
It also served to convince me that I could write a book, too -- sort of a pointless endeavor, possibly, but perhaps not out of reach ... It kind of separated the publishing of a book from any sort of lasting fame, which is actually a good thing, I think.
For next month: Saturday, by Ian McEwan.
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