Literary Rain

Me, a reading dry spell? Good luck with that.

You see, I basically read every day. Even if it’s just a trashy novel, or a skinny paperback that I won’t remember two years from now – I read. You’d probably do better to ask what book I read yesterday (or today, actually, time is plentiful at the moment).

An English teacher once described me as a vicious (though I’m fairly sure he meant voracious) reader, and that was almost ten years ago. Reading has been a habit ever since I was little and my parents would read to me; then, when I got older I would read before bed. At school, I would read at lunch and in the morning break, holing up in the library on rainy days. Sunny days too, now I think of it. I may even have stealthily read books under my desk.

Also, I majored in English, having studied Classical Studies before that. Classical Studies just didn’t have enough novels. Please pardon my name dropping (though as someone said recently, it’s not name-dropping if you really have read them) but between these two subjects, I’ve studied Ancient Greek and Roman plays. Sophocles and Aristophanes and Euripides still line my shelves.

Then there were the semesters of Chaucer and Shakespeare – and his contemporaries, the Victorian-era poetry, the nineteenth-century literature, the modern novel. One memorable class spanned five hundred years of literature: Shakespeare’s sonnets, up until Wallace and Gromit. Quick fact, this was the class where I met Co-Author.

Names aside, I think I’ve given you an idea of what sort of reader I might be. I like old literature, and new. I still read young adult fiction (rationalizing that at cough my age I’m still a young adult, and I also call it research for my own authorial forays) and even if it’s a cheap and cheerful Happily-Ever-After, I still read it – only to counter it with a Gloomily Ever After. I forage in libraries and devour the armloads I bring home within days, or ponder over something old. I buy ebooks to save physical space, which doesn’t work so well when they eat up memory-data-megabyte doo-hickeys, and numerous classics from the same publisher, which makes for a remarkably matchy bookcase.

Ooh, that reminds me, I get to buy a new book.

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