I just read through my last post on here, from September 2011 ... oh, dear. It's now April 2012, and as I have evidently proved, I'm really rather useless at updating this. So, rather than making any grand promises to write a new post every week, I think it's wiser to update when I have something interesting to say. Which isn't very often, but hey ho. In other news, I've read a few good books just lately, and thought I'd share. But before this, I need an outlet to express a few sentimental thoughts, and here seemed as good a place as any. Last week was my final week of lectures as an undergraduate, and now I'm feeling a little lost. I've had the most fantastic time at Winchester, I've learnt so much and made some wonderful friends. But what do I do next? I'm torn - do I find a full time job, scrape together some funds and do an MA, or sponge off my parents for another year while I figure it out? My degree is in Creative Writing and American Literature, and whilst I have loved every second of it, and learnt heaps about the process of writing, I am not (and nor do I want to be) a writer. I love writing - but I know that I don't have that burning passion to get words on to paper like some of my fellow coursemates. It's more a hobby for me; something I enjoy, but don't like to work at. Reading, on the other hand, is my life. I can't imagine living a life without books, they are an integral part of who I am. The escapism they provide, the people they paint, the worlds they offer ... They are magical. But, alas, somehow I don't think I'll carve myself a career as a 'professional reader', no matter how hard I wish for it. For a long time, I thought publishing would be my best avenue, and until recently I was quite prepared to fight tooth and nail for a position in a publishing house, any publishing house who might consider me. But now ... something's changed, and I'm not sure what it is. Fear? Reluctance? Laziness? I don't know, but suddenly it all seems upside down, and I'm not sure which direction I ought to head in. The trouble is, I don't have any other ideas as to what I might like to do for a living. So to cover my bases, I've applied for a few positions at a publishing house in Basingstoke, and fingers crossed, I might get an interview. And if not? Back to the drawing board, I suppose.
Anyway. On to books!! First of all, I read the Hunger Games series earlier this year, and whilst I appreciate they are not the most well written books I've ever read, I was completely hooked and devoured all three of them over the course of two days. And really, what does it matter if the writing is a bit shabby in places? I was hooked, utterly fixated on the world Suzanne Collins had imagined, and ever so slightly gutted when I realised I was two pages away from finishing them. With hindsight, I wish I'd read them a little slower and taken my time with them, rather than inhaling them as I did.When I've read a few of the other books on my never-ending list of 'Books to Read Next' I'll go back to the beginning and re-read them, taking care this time to pace myself and take a break every few chapters. All I can say is, I wouldn't hesitate to reccommend this series - I thought they were fantastic.
Last week I finished The Sisters Brothers by Patrick DeWitt - not my usual thing, I admit, but after it had been recommended to me by a friend (her blog can be found here) I thought I'd take a stab at it. To start, I found it a little slow - very reminiscent of Cormac McCarthy, and that put me off straight away - but as I read on, I found myself becoming more and more involved until I couldn't put it down. The world DeWitt creates is fresh and vivid, and the characters are both incredibly likable and slightly repulsive at the same time. To those who are squeamish, there are a few instances of both animal and human cruelty that I found at times difficult to get through, but once I found my way to the other side ... well. I won't say anymore, only that it was a bit of wrench to have to give the book back once I'd finished. It's one I want on my shelf.
I started The End of Mr Y this morning, by Scarlett Thomas, and so far (that is to say, 47 pages in) it's looking pretty darn good. I will attempt a blog post once I've finished it, but you know me ... Expect a thorough review by 2015 :)
Until then, au revoir!
