It’s actually warm here today and instead of reading books, I’m thinking about them. Specifically, these books:
The Flamethrowers by Rachel Kushner. I tried to read The Flamethrowers and couldn’t get into it. I thought it was because I just wasn’t one of the cool kids. Then I read this review on The Guardian and finally felt like I belonged somewhere. Talitha Stevenson put into words what I had been feeling. I felt that the narrator was reporting what was happening to her; she was too distant. (I also found all her artsy pals, who she just met, to be a pile of phonies.) While the book might be celebrated and Kushner very talented, it wasn’t for me.
Z: A Novel of Zelda Fitzgerald. Do I want to read this? Should I just read Save Me the Waltz instead? Z is $14 and Waltz is 99cents on Kobo. I think I’ve made my decision.
I’m reading Fingersmith by Sarah Waters right now and I’m hoping something happens soon.