books in the time of quarantine

last july, I stopped recording each book I read; this was a mistake. (I love having lists & documentation, because I can't remember everything & regret not having the record.) then, because I was trying to convince myself I did not have this regret, I didn't keep a faithful record this year either.

but it's never too late to start, and I'm looking back over the past few months to see what my covid-19 reading habits have been like: highlight version.

completed
never let me go, kazuo ishiguro
straight up took it from the little lending library by my house, because I haven't read this book in like six years. not quite as heart-wrenching the second time around, but we all know I was reading it for the last page. now I need to go back to remains of the day, which might stand time a little better.

on writing, stephen king
entertaining and funny, typical king. a little snobby, because to him writing is an inborn talent that can be honed but not made (and I am actually paraphrasing). at least that means his book is much less technical, much more enjoyable, and feels more accessible than a lot of writing 'manuals' (ironically enough!). but I'm a king fan already, so biased.

poisonwood bible, barbara kingsolver
mom has always used that "thyroid mary" quote and I wanted to finally just read a kingsolver. I did. not a fan of her writing style, but it was a compelling story.

all the lives we ever lived, katharine smyth
something about this caught my attention (and I was gripped by to the lighthouse once myself), so I tried it just between 2020 and covid. it was fine, maybe even good; going through some things at the time, though, and what I distinctly remember is this one paragraph:

"...embedded in Mrs. Ramsay's reflection that Paul and Minta will say 'we' all their lives, what is to me the most resonant of the book's observations about coupling: Marriage precipitates what may well be a splendid new entity, but its price is the supplantation of 'I'. ...To the Lighthouse is hardly an antimarriage novel; its portrait of the Ramsays reveals the heights of human connection, imperfect though it may well be. But it also recognizes that marriage is a loss, a sacrifice of self and its expression, and that, contrary to Mrs. Ramsay's beliefs—among them that 'an unmarried woman has missed the best of life'—solitude can be an act of self-preservation. 'She liked to be alone,' Lily insists, pleading her exemption from that universal law. 'She liked to be herself; she was not made for that.'"

the code book, simon singh
totally cool. I loved the breakdown of cryptography techniques and history, though I think he spent too much time on bletchley park, when you should just read turing's cathedral.

it starts with food, melissa hartwig
in prep for my last wh30. and what a saga that became

you look like a thing & I love you, janelle shane
my dezine book club pick. fun foray into artificial intelligence; shane's technical explanations were excellent in some places and I felt more confusing in others, but definitely gave me a better idea of the abilities and limitations of ML.

1Q84, haruki murakami
meant to read murakami for a long time (you have to read one, right?). gripping story; I see why people would love murakami, but I don't think I could read another one—it requires a big investment. maybe it's quarantine brain, but I am needing things that do not require a lot of focus and attention and time commitment.

leave it to psmith, pg wodehouse
I love wodehouse. this has been my favorite book of quarantine. it made me laugh literally out loud and it's one of his delightfully woosterian, complicated stories—blakeney-esque hero, hijinx, and lines like, "Beach the butler entered, a dignified procession of one." or, "A depressing musty scent pervaded the place, as if a cheese had recently died there in painful circumstances." orczy herself never reached these heights.

in progress
the D case, carlo fruttero & franco lucentini
this came recommended by a friend who knows I love dickens and who loved this book. we love dickens in different ways, I think.
until now, I've stood firm in my decision to never read the mystery of edwin drood because 1, he didn't finish the mystery and 2, depressing! no more dickens! but this friend was insistent I read the book, and I doubted myself. I should never have doubted. once again I am regret.

letters to vera, vladimir nabokov
some great descriptions. not as gripping as I wanted it to be—lacked the polished cleverness of his writing, although this was much more natural. obviously. also much more moany. they kind of remind me of napoleon's letters to josephine while on campaign hahaha

napoleon, andrew roberts
because I finished a catherine the great kick last summer & wanted to jump tracks. I also spend too much time in elizabethan england.

napoleon (2nd borrow)
it's a big book. currently waiting on 3rd borrow, since for some reason there's a wait list at the library.

astrophysics for people in a hurry, neil degrasse tyson
it's actually been a slow crawl for me. I need to be a better book picker or a more diligent attention-payer.

100 years of solitude, gabriel garcia marquez
audiobook, this one; because it keeps me entertained while I walk my boring, boring rounds of the neighborhood (I'm going to be entirely flab when I get back to boston, and should stop trying to make steps happen. I will never again be able to walk the entirety of the porter escalators. this is the end). I hate audiobooks, because I am a terrible aural learner, but this way I'm so focused on the storyline that I forget I'm walking. it's working for me.

never to be completed
design of everyday things, don norman (4th borrow)
I love nielsen norman and this is a classic, so we should have been the perfect match, right? but every time I got it checked out, I'd only make it through a chapter before it was due again—and finally gave up. I guess I will never be a legitimate designer.

& other
working through some puritan paperbacks as well—bunyan, brooks, & watson, the OG boy band, or maybe actually a law firm—and valley of vision, which I've never devoted enough time to before. it is a cold spring of refreshment.
- reformed baptist manifesto, barcellos
- infant baptism & the covenant of grace, jewett
- coronavirus & christ, piper
- end times made simple, waldron

I've spent some time combing through my old school books, now that I'm home, too: westing game is always gold, mara, daughter of the nile, which I don't even have to explain, even ramsay scallop because etienne's version of patient griselda is my favorite. it's been quite a mishmash; going forward I want to hardcore prioritize my reading so I'm not spending time on the peripheral or joyful (true story) when I could be reading something on my longer-term list.

like the elizabethan world, which I last cracked the week before quarantine started and am determined to get back to. the enlightenment & napoleon combined can't keep me down.

requisite quarantine feelings post

it's rainy twilight. I am vibing with the weather. and every time I write "vibing" I get autocorrected to "viking".

this is hard for me. everything is hard for me right now. I am not loving getting up in the morning. I put off going to bed because then I don't have to face the next day. nothing is in itself hard; it's just all so much the same, so many same little everyday stresses. it's like having teeny anxiety sand grains in my head, and the grit is getting to me.

usually—or used to be—reading helped this. but right now, I can't summon the emotional investment for fiction and have no mental capacity for anything else. also, all my current books are digital, and my inability to focus these days is exponentially increased by blue light, seems like. work is all screen, too. so I stare out the window constantly and miss large, integral chunks of conversation in meetings.

I am tired of zoom calls. I am tired of talking about the quarantine. I am inevitably the one who brings it up on zoom calls, which makes me irrationally irritated and then I wonder why no one seems to have a life to talk about anymore—ironic,* because I spend my days working, sleeping, and staring out the window, for the most part.

*I almost said "funny" but then remembered "hahahaha," and it made me sad to think of how we used to do that in the carefree summer of our youth

frankly, I'm even tired of the virus memes, because the time spent laughing and then sighing is getting disproportionately weighted towards the sigh.

when I was in school I liked to read sad poetry to cheer myself up. "it's lonely in the country, I remember" was a good refreshing tear-jerker at the time but now it's another way everything I read makes me depressed. memories of hopes that are not, bla bla, and it's clear that stickney never had to wear a mask in public by order of the state government.

it's spring. I thought winter's rains and ruins were over, and all the season of snows and sins. yet I am sitting inside, viking with the glum dim sadness, the petty dust my soon-choked soul to fill. with a heigh ho the wind and the rain.

the one thing bringing me joy these days is walking to BJ harrison reading leave it to psmith, and I honestly won't know what to do when that is done. walk to another wodehouse, possibly, a dignified procession of one.

feel how swift, how secretly, the shadow of the night comes on.
still falls the rain.
miniver coughed and called it fate, and kept on drinking.