I’m snagging this meme from Katrina, a fellow Sunday Saloner. I think it’s interesting to think of all the books I mean to read compared with the books I’ve actually been reading.
The author I always meant to read is Kazuo Ishiguro. I own three of his books. I’ve owned Remains of the Day for three years now. Never Let Me Go and The Unconsoled found their way onto my shelves earlier this year. I mean to read the books, and yet, it never seems to happen. It’s my intention to read Remains of the Day before the year is out.
The author I always meant to read more of is Charles Dickens. I have a love/hate relationship with Dickens. I didn’t care for Great Expectations at all. I didn’t like A Tale of Two Cities when it was assigned reading my sophomore year of high school, but it grew on me when I was a senior and I was a TA for a sophomore English class and I was listening to them learning it. I enjoyed Oliver Twist, and I’ve got several Dickens novels waiting for me to read them. And I intend to retry Great Expectations to see if I like it better at 24 than I did at 14.
The genre I always meant to read/try is the beats. My reading tastes tend to suggest that Jack Kerouac and Allen Ginsberg would be completely out of place on my shelves, and that I wouldn’t enjoy them. But if Rory Gilmore can read Jane Austen and Howl, why can’t I?
The book on my TBR pile I always mean to read next is Little Women. True confessions: I’ve never read Little Women. I saw the movie when I was 10 with my then best friend Melissa, and the appeal was lost on me. I think if I tried it again, I’d love it. And I always want to try it, but I never seem to get around to it. I should really rectify that once I finish The Alcestiad.
The book I always meant to try again is The Sound and the Fury. I read the first thirty pages as a junior in high school, and had the uncontrollable urge to throw the damn thing across the room. The stream of conscious writing drove me nuts, and I literally could not force myself to continue on. But I kind of liked his short story “A Rose for Emily” in all it’s morbidity, and so I think I need to give The Sound and the Fury another shot.