In Newsweek this week, literary critic Harold Bloom offers his list of the five books he’d take to the desert island with him. Touchstone Magazine’s blog has some intriguing commentary, and some fun lists in the comments. I will not be bringing the 2nd of 3 books I read tonight for work, because it was by-the-numbers chick lit. The five books I’d bring to the stupid desert island are:
Well, out of the 1001 books some dude says you should read before you die, I’ve read 43 out of the 157 listed from the 1800s:
Synopsis: After her husband and children are brutally murdered by a god-like Harpy, Ki undertakes an act of vengeance that severs her ties with her husband’s people, and sends her on a dangerous journey up an icy mountain overseen by a malevolent force. Review: Megan Lindholm is Robin Hobb, whom I love. Harpy’s Flight is the first in a 4-book series featuring teamster Ki and her unlikely partner Vandien, and while the storytelling isn’t as accomplished as in her later works, Harpy’s Flight is a…
Synopsis: An awkward teen buys a junky old Plymouth that seems to have a life of its own–and sinister plans for Artie and those he loves.
Out of the 715 books listed as being must-reads before you die, I’ve read 112:
I have no intention of reading every book on this list. I have zero interest in reading anything more by Philip Roth, Saul Bellow, EL Doctorow, Thomas Pyncheon, or Don Dellillo than what I’ve already read, for example. But I did enjoy going through the list and finding out how well read I am. I’ll be parsing this out over several posts. This particular post is in honor of the book I read for work last night, a collection of short stories by different authors…
Synopsis: After returning from Italy, a young woman struggles to adjust to her new fiance, and quell the disturbing yearnings for romance so recently awakened. Review: A Room with a View is my third Forster. It’s more straightforward than A Passage to India, but it’s not as rich and fulfilling as Howard’s End.
The Sunday New York Times Book section had a charming essay called Confessions of a Book Abuser (registration required). Ben Schott opens: I have to admit I was flattered when, returning to my hotel room on the shores of Lake Como, a beautiful Italian chambermaid took my hand. I knew that the hotel was noted for the attentiveness of its staff. Surely, though, such boldness elevated room service to a new level. Escorting me to the edge of the crisply made bed, the chambermaid pointed…
Synopsis: A little girl falls down the rabbit hole and steps through a mirror, finding herself in an illogical, marvelous world.
I read a book for work tonight, a travel autobiography about a woman who thinks she’s hilarious and that everything that ever happened to her in her entire life is fascinating. Guess what? It’s not. How do these people get published? I guess if you’re a woman, it helps to be really crude and vulgar. That’s what passes for feminism these days. Well, you depress me, Sarah Silverman and your ilk. Get a life. (Just don’t assume I want to know about it.)