I am reading. Yes I am. I’m halfway through Middlesex by Jeffrey Eugenides. And it’s like reading two different books. One is about Desdemona and Lefty escaping the Turkish massacre, their marriage at sea and their settlement in America. Their hideous secret, the cause ultimately of Callie’s dilemma, or rather, her / his life. The other is about Callie, the hermaphrodite, granddaughter or is it grandson (?) of Desdemona and Lefty and daughter (or son) of Milton, their son, and Tessie, his cousin cum wife. I think you probably get the drift of this. It is an amazing book, really. The story is mind boggling but believable and the writing is erudite and gripping.
However, it’ s taking me a long time. It’s not one of those books that you pick up one evening and finish the next weekend, give or take two train journeys. And yes, I have been on train journeys, and car journeys, again. Did I worry only recently about work and perhaps not having enough to do? Well, all that’s changed. I’ve been to Bradford, to London, to Nottingham and yes, Wales again. I’m writing, but the wrong kind: reports. Still it demands all my intellectual energy and so I am just not getting round to writing reviews, book reviews, or much of my own 51 stories. Otherwise, I do a lot of writing!
Another thing I don’t do much of at the moment is looking at all your blogs, let alone reading them, what you are coming up with as far as your reading and writing is concerned. But I will. Promise.
And then of course, spring is really here now. There’s work to be done in the garden. It’s juggling time: work, reading, writing, gardening… Who could want for more?