I'm a compulsive reader and one of my proudest accomplishments (I should say "our" because John is also a reader) is instilling this horrid trait in my children. Many evenings will find us in our beds, or even all in this bed reading our respective books, magazines, etc. We all have the habit of reading passages to each other . We read whie we eat. Also while walking. Or knitting. Or ,well you get the idea.
Currently, I am reading a lovely mystery by Ariana Franklin, Mistress of the Art of Death. This novel takes place in 12th century England (primarily) and is one of the more realistic portrayals of that period I've read. The novel accurately depicts the precarious role of Jews in the society as well, which is of additional interest to me.
I'm nearly finished with Amy Stewart's, Flower Confidential:The Good, The Bad and The Beautiful in the Business of Flowers. I have been somewhat riveted by the amount of science that has gone into the creation of the world of cut flowers as we know it. I am pretty obsessed with flowers and with having them in my home. When I lived in Cambridge I had fresh arrangements weekly and while I no longer induldge myself to quite that level I still maintain a close relationship with my favorite local florist. By the way, for Pesach he planted about 15 small terracotta pots with parsley for me, a few larger pots with scented geraniums and one larger still pot with pansies and parsley. The tables were lovely and this was actually surprisingly inexpensive. I am a gardener as well and learning some of what I did has made me want to try some "backyard genetics" this spring.
I am a fan of the literary journal McSweeney's and am about 5 issues behind in my reading. I tend to do a lot of this type of reading in the warmer days of spring and in the summer. I can sit on the beach knitting and reading for hours while the kids skimboard, build castles fly kites etc. When we head to the Cape for the summer I fully expect that there will be one large tote filled with the summer's planned reading. This will not include the stuff we pick up at our favorite used and new bookstores while actually on the Cape.
I want to mention Cormac Mcarthy's The Road, one of the most beautiful, harrowing and haunting books I have read in the past 12 months. This book is a powerful testimony to the love of a father for his son. This is a post apocolyptic story and the devastation of the landscape is echoed in the devastation in the heart and soul of the narrator, but there is always a small flutter of hope and while I initially felt a lot of sadness reading this I came away with a sublime feeling of grace that's hard to explain. It was, for me anyway, a book that once started I did not put down until it was finished. There is not one extra word, one wrong step in this novel and that in itself is a rare thing in the craft of writing.