Homer's The Odyssey did that to me (though I did love it), as did Secret Wars by Gordon Thomas (great, and a modest length, but so loaded with names and dates and places.... I thought I left all that behind in school!) and Perdito Street Station by China Mieville (not heavy heavy, just mind-bending imaginative world-building). And James Joyce's Ulysses taunts me from the bookshelf; I started it several years ago, but set it aside unfinished in favour of a lighter, "comfort food" novel. I guess it just wasn't meant to be - at the time. Sometimes you just need a little breather like that. Someday, I'll tackle Ulysses again. And thankfully, I've learned I'm not alone in my struggle with that book; a friend told me he dealt with it the same way.
I think what got me to thinking about all this were my hours with Cormack McCarthy's All the Pretty Horses this morning. When I awoke, the sky was murky gray and sheets of rain were pelting down. I ate a small breakfast and brewed up some tea. That tea was a signal to my brain that I was going to sit myself down and finish up this book. Don't get me wrong, I love All the Pretty Horses... in fact, this is my second reading of the novel, and I know I'll revisit it again down the road (or trail, considering the subject matter).
And I did sit down with my tea and the sound of rain spattering my windows as I followed the adventures of John Grady Cole as he trekked through Mexico to return home in Texas. I finished the book and now look forward to my next literary excursion. I even transferred my favourite old, tattered, yellow Post-It bookmark from the McCormack book to my next choice. I actually own a few very nice store-bought bookmarks (a silly Garfield one with a fuzzy tassle from the 80's, and a fancy artsy one), yet I acquire and cling to crappy little scraps of paper for placeholders. Whatever.
On deck is a bit of a guilty pleasure (well, I'm sure it will be once I've actually read it), American on Purpose, the memoirs of TV personality Craig Ferguson. Just a light and funny diversion before I address something more substantial, perhaps Nick Rankin's Ian Fleming's Commandos, the real-life stories of the James Bond creator's exploits during WWII. Or The Club Dumas by Arturo Perez-Revert... a supernatural mystery I've read and enjoyed before.
So, yes, a rainy Sunday morning is often inviting for a long and leisurely reading session. On the flip-side, I also find that a sunny weekend afternoon can be equally suited to a good book. I'll open up the windows, sip a cold drink, and immerse myself in a story.
I used to, when the mood struck me or I was so captivated by a book, that I'd spend an entire evening in my comfy chair, feverishly flipping pages to see what happens next. But in recent years, with a job that demands a very early wake-up call, I have not had the stamina to keep my eyes open for long that late in the day. After dinner, I'm usually ready for a TV show or two, or a movie, then it's lights out. I put this down to tiredness after rising early and a long day at work, plus on some days, a six to eight kilometre run immediately after work. Yes, I think I earn the right to vegetate in front of the tube for a couple of hours on weekday evenings.
It isn't often that I become so absorbed in a book that I feel I must read it all in one or two sittings. But it does happen on occasion. When I was a teenager, and even in my twenties and thirties, I used to start a book after dinner and read well into the small hours of the morning in order to reach the final page. During my teen years, I'd zip through several books a week, like Michael Moorcock's Elric saga. Crazy. But my reading speed and stamina aren't what they used to be. In fact, I would much rather take an easy pace so that I can better savour a well-told tale. Not always, but usually.
For example, the book The Historian, by Elizabeth Kostova, is one that I love to pore over unhurriedly, soaking up the details and the creeping dread atmosphere. I find I can more fully appreciate a novel this way. Sure, there are quick reads, like the Lawrence Block mysteries, my favourites being the Bernie Rhodenbarr "Burglar" books. I can race through those easy-to-digest stories, enjoying the ride immensely. It's good to mix it up with a light read now and then to let the brain recover from heavy engagement with a daunting tome.
I own books at both ends of the spectrum, but I suppose most of them fall somewhere in the middle. My shelves are jam-packed with crime fiction by the likes of Michael Connelly and Jo Nesbo, just to name a couple of recent favourites. Robert B. Parker, Patricia Cornwell, and Lawrence Block series are in their too, not to mention my spy thrillers by Len Deighton and Ian Fleming.
The winter time here in Canada is more conducive to reading a lot. It's a bit tricky to find time in summer, when I find myself dedicating weekend afternoons to watching the Toronto Blue Jays play ball. I'm not a sports nut by any stretch, baseball being the only pro sport I follow.... and even then, only the occasional Jays game. But like I said before, a rainy Sunday morning sets the stage for some book fun.
Autumn sets the stage for more indoor activities, namely those enjoyed in an easy-chair with a book. For instance, come October, I always feel compelled to haul out a collected works of Edgar Allan Poe that I've picked at a little at a time over the years. Just a story or poem or two each year, leading up to All Hallow's Eve. And if my heavy horror movie consumption that month permits, I may try to squeeze in some more seasonal fiction, such as The October Country, a collection of short macabre tales by the master, Ray Bradbury.
Winter in this country can get downright nasty, though in recent years, the weather has been more moderate. The worst days are fewer and it's a bit easier to get through the cold and snowy season. I'm not a winter person... never have been. I hibernate. Sure, I make a short walk to and from work, and I pick up groceries within my neighbourhood. Pop out to a pub occasionally. But other than that, my world shrinks significantly. My movie viewing and book reading increases dramatically once December hits. Then four or five months of frigid, messy conditions. So I just stay in with my home entertainment: shelves and shelves of movies, books, and music. Not bad at all for someone who is quite content to be a homebody.
In fact, I'm sort of looking forward to a miserable Canadian winter so I can plug into my fave books and movies even more often. No baseball or clear running paths to distract me.
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