The first cover above. Is that a bare bum? It’s the cover I’ve got but I didn’t look at it properly. Would have preferred the burnt orange version on the right, it’s a much better cover. I rarely like photographic covers, especially with people in them. Having people on covers interferes with my imagination.
I am struggling with this challenge. I have been cheating all over the place, with books I already owned. I mean, Blood Meridian, bloody hell, but trying to convince myself it was ‘for research’ but I’m not writing a bloody-soaked western or travel epic so really I was just kidding myself.
So last night I got back on track – I hope. I put down Cormac and picked up The Lowland by Jhumpa Lahiri and was happy on the first page of reading, even though it feels familiar. Brothers who will, no doubt, be at risk. Reminds me a little of The Fishermen by Chigozie Obioma, and also The God of Small Things. I’m starting to think there really are only a handful of stories, being told and re-told around the world, or am I becoming even more jaded?
It’s making me re-think my 2017 reading plans, which are going to be Russian in theme… But as a wise person* told me recently, perhaps instead of making myself read to the theme for the whole year, I select 15 titles, and read outside of the theme as well. I think my mistake, or one of them, was reading Rushdie as book number two. It kind of broke me. Anyway, onwards. Today I’m listening to Rachmaninov piano concertos.