Monday, December 09, 2013
Now it seems to be by my fault that I'm not finishing reading books, after always priding myself on being a finisher, good or bad. Impatience? Extended bad mood? Encroaching old age? Sudden clarification of sharp personal idiosyncratic literary taste? Advancing alcoholism?
Too bad. It's that sexy, nyc book-du-jour movement that I'd loved to seem to be a part of, but ain't.