celebrating books & the literary lifestyle
For the past five years, I have spent more time reading children’s books than anything else. The back cover of Richard Scarry’s Good Night Little Bear says, “Each of us remembers our own favorite Little Golden Book.” I recently discovered we may remember even more about them than we realize.
Because my blog typically focuses on literature, this post would ideally be about a book. Unfortunately, my intended book remains marked at page 98. I haven’t picked it up in days, and I might not.
I expected to read “The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel” and then blog about how the fabulous movie of the same name is actually based on an even more fabulous book. What a typical blog that might have been.
“What mystery we lose when we figure things out…”
Imagine that in your possession is an unopened, nearly century-old letter that traveled on the first transatlantic flight. You have reason to believe it may contain historical information about a famous figure, and it almost surely contains a historical detail relevant to your own family. If you open the letter, you lower its (potential) monetary value. If you leave it unopened or sell it, you might never know what details, significant or not, of your own history, it may or may not contain. What would you do? Threading together three historical events, Colum McCann has written another beautiful novel. (Though his Let the Great World Spin remains my favorite, and is one I plan to re-read and blog on in the future.)
If you see me breaking into swing kicks during my neighborhood walks, it’s because I’m listening to the Great Gatsby soundtrack. I admit it—I’m in love with all things Gatsby right now.
This affair started around 15 years ago though I can’t remember exactly when I first read the book or when I read it a second time. In fact, I recently had to admit to myself that I couldn’t remember much about it at all minus some passages I liked and a general story line. So, when I walked over to my glorious bookcases, with the intention of plucking it out for a quick re-read before seeing the new Baz Luhrmann film, I stared at my Fs in disbelief. (Yes, most of my fiction is alphabetized, one of the very few areas of true organization in my life.) In fact, I found nothing from F. Scott Fitzgerald there except a collection of short stories. I walked away disturbed and confused, wondering what had happened to my book in which some favorite passages were underlined.
Amazon Prime comes fast but not as quickly as my opportunity to finally go see the new film ended up presenting itself. With two pre-schoolers, it is rare that “no kids” coincides with a specific movie’s schedule, so these opportunities must be seized quickly. Thus, my re-reading was, gasp, going to have to wait until after the film. I cringed at this literary faux pas.
I had the pleasure of meeting Roger Ebert recently. Not personally, of course; sadly, he passed away on April 4, 2013. Still, our nightly conversations through his memoir Life Itself: A Memoir
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