This post isn’t about television, so it might not be that interesting (although, we finally finished Lost the other night. And I am making my way through this 80+ page document so that I might understand what I actually was watching all these years.)
This is about a book. Prologue: Day after day I was passing my favorite book store and I couldn’t ignore the entire window display devoted to Jonathan Dee’s The Privileges with a sign smack in the middle of it all displaying a large-fonted recommendation by none other than Jonathan Franzen. Now, I don’t feel happy admitting that The Corrections is my favorite book, as an adult, of all time- but it is. The not happy part is because about one zillion people share my opinion. So anyway, Mr. Franzen recommended a book and so it was a foregone conclusion that I would read it. And I did. In a day and a half. Committing child neglect. Hoping, waiting, believing. And The Privileges was okay. Just okay. That’s how I feel about almost every book I read. (Except The Road – which I despised. Have I mentioned that?)
So I needed a little break from my disappointment and finally finished Notes from a Small Island, which although it was published 15 years ago, gave me a better sense of the English peccadilloes that I might try and love (not hate) – but more on that another time.
And then to procrastinate further I finally succumbed for the first time in my life to a mass appeal popular fictional series. Da Vinci Code looked boring to me. Harry Potter too childish and fantastical. Twilight I had zero interest in. Correction: I had minus interest. To the nth power. And I even avoided Lisbeth Salander for as long as possible. But this weekend the first of the Millennium Trilogy swallowed me whole.
And now here I am, on the eve of it. Or so I thought. Jonathan Franzen’s Freedom does not come out in the UK until the 23rd of September – in the U.S., tomorrow. I wish someone could explain to me once and for all the reason for the delay between U.S. release dates of movies, tv and books and the rest of the world. Makes me cross.
And not that it’s the UK’s fault, but just to make myself feel better, here is a picture from a newspaper of some bank holiday revelers at the beach.
The people on this island are mad. Mad I tell you.