In the space of just under 24 hours this weekend (during which I slept for 8 hours, filled up the car, went to the office, visited 3 bookstores, 1 grocery store, and 2 department stores), I read 2 books. Cover to cover. Now, neither was particularly long. The first was Nick Hornby's The Polysyllabic Spree, a compilation of 14 months' worth of his column in Believer magazine wherein he lists what books he has purchased that month, what books he actually read, and then talks about the whys and such. Such an enjoyable read on so many levels: he's terribly clever and down-to-earth, he has good taste in books, and he isn't afraid to show enthusiasm and ignorance by ample, equal handfuls. And now I'm getting a "low battery" warning and I'm too goddamned lazy to get out of my warm bed and get the power cord, so I'd better hurry the hell up. So on to the other book.
The other book was Hemingway on Writing, a collection of the old man's comments on the craft from his works and letters. It is almost unseemly that a man could have so much confidence and then go blow his head off.
I've started a third and a fourth book of the weekend, and it will be interesting to see which wins the majority of my attention this week. More tomorrow on the other books purchased this weekend. (And later when I'm not racing against the damned battery, I'll fix this post up proper, with links and italics and all.)