The War of Love.
--The Felice Brothers
The above lyrics have absolutely nothing to do with this really, really past-due post, other than being a song that I adore. Now that I am positive that any readership that I might have formerly enjoyed in completely gone, I can finally do something about my blog. I don't know why I suddenly quit writing, but I do know that I have reached an impasse on my reading. My book purchasing has overshadowed my ability to read, and thereby has become a chaotic mess. I can't figure out a good system of organization for my reading list. My husband, bless him, has the ability to make a Queue and stick to it, where I stack books and re-stack them to infinity, making no progress whatsoever. My books and I enjoy a complicated relationship; I cannot do without stacks of books-- but lately, I have been having a hard time remembering what it is that I am reading and what it is that the pages are communicating. My background in neuroscience is nil, so I am only assuming that the difficulty that I am experiencing has something to do with my lack of writing information down.
--Reading and diary keeping must go hand and hand, methinks. I simply do not have the ability to remember all of the books that I have ingested without some sort of tangible form of record keeping.--
I have two stacks of books before me, one a foot high and the other three feet tall. While I feel that the books take a divergent course, there is a sort of blending in regards to subject matter. To decide which volume to begin with is confusing and a careful choice must be made. I am debating between "The Invisible Mountain" by Carolina de Robertis, "Cleopatra: Histories, Dreams and Distortions" by Lucy Hughes-Hallet.