Loving?
Monday, January 21, 2008
Something has happened to my abilities as a reader, and I'm not at all happy about it. Books I'm certain to fall in love with (seduced by the idea of them, or the look of them, or the lyric of the very first few lines) begin to dissipate before my eyes, fall apart and away from the cradle of my hands. The stories suddenly seem preordained, or the ideas devolved to gimmickry, or the language too embedded in code, or—well, really, I don't know. Desperate to fall in love with a newly bought book, I don't, and what does that mean? What could it? That I am too overwrought with work just now to be a faithful reader? That I've gone and made myself too preposterously analytical? That I've lost my talent for suspended disbelief? That I am not finding the right books? That I'm lost?
It doesn't feel generous, not being in love with my newest books. It feels lonely, frankly, and raw. It feels like it's time to start this affair all again. Find a new reading chair. A new lamp. A new winter blanket.
Find calm.
6 comments:
I enjoyed your insight into reading. I sometimes find it hard to get into a book myself that seems to think too much of itself and try too hard.
This happens to magazine writers (who can never lie in a bathtub with REAL SIMPLE again, believe me!) and filmmakers (who have trouble at the movies--imagine!). For me, it takes a breath away from work--a day or two of not writing--to settle into a book that I appreciate simply for the story, and not for the bones of the craft.
Beth -
Try listening to an audiobook while going for a walk. Multitasking, I know, but a wonderful, wonderful way to get into a book without the itchy, impatient feeling. Words spoken is also an experience in itself. You get totally engrossed in the voices. Like being child again, having bedtime stories read aloud.
Three books I have ADORED in the audio version - Atonement (Ian McEwan), The History of Love (Nicole Krauss), Disgrace (J. M. Coetzee).
A warning: Being out of your private zone, it might feel a little uncomfortable when tears insist their way forward! While listening to Atonement I was walking along a beach and lucky for me it was winter, so I could freely give into the “come back!” theme of the story.
Another advantage of walking/listening: Was it not for my i-pod, I would not have heard your interview with Barbara DeMarco-Barrett (http://www.barbarademarcobarrett.com/) -which lead me to this page. And was it not for this page, well, I would have been that much poorer.
Good luck on your reading/listening/walking - and on all your design work!
I go through similar phases. When it happens, I have to take a break from reading for a couple of weeks. When work is no longer filling my head, I go back to books feeling refreshed. But I think as a writer it's sometimes hard to fully enjoy reading. I'm always thinking about craft. Oh how I wish I could turn that part of my brain off sometimes.
One of my wise grad school professors used to talk of "poetry nausea"--her term for that overwhelming feel you've described. When it happen--usually after I'm overworked or immersed in bureaucratic prose for too long--I pick up something I've forgotten for years, someone who I've not read--Auden, say, or Donne, or Bishop--and dip back into reading one magnificent poem at a time!
I've been amazed by the generosity of you here, who have offered salves, ideas, points of view.
Audiobooks, time away, a remembered favorite poem (I think I should return to Mary Oliver, to Neruda, to Kunitz, I think I will).
Thanks to each of you for your cures.
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