I finished a book on the subway this morning for my reading job. The only place in the world I can’t read is in the car. Train–fine. Subway–fine. Plane, bus, boat–no problem. But if I’m in the car and I spend more than 10 minutes looking at any kind of words, even on a map, I’m down for the count. When I was a kid, I figured out that I wouldn’t get sick as long as I couldn’t see out the window, so I would lay on my back in the backseat or on the floor of the car and hold the book above me. I think that might be a felony offense these days.
Next in line on the shelf is Dorothy Allison’s Bastard out of Carolina. Great book; but I found the treatment of the young actress in the filmed version to be unconscionable.