Over the last few weeks I've picked up and put down a lot of bad books. When I find a bad read, I feel no compunction to finish it. Time is a precious thing and I'm not willing to invest my time on a book that I don't like.
As a result, when this type of steak hits I start feeling jangly. My brain becomes littered with bits of silly plots and stupid characters, and I restlessly prowl around for something, somewhere, that is good to read. During this slump, my need-to-read has been satisfied only by spending a lot of time lingering over the three daily newspapers we subscribe to; while I am feeling terribly well-informed about toxic funds, French business executives, and NCAA basketball, this is no substitute for a good book.
Fortunately, I think this streak may be at an end. Last night I started reading People of the Book, a novel by Geraldine Brooks. So far, so good.
All this reminds me about why I get so excited about really good books, books that you don't want to stop reading, that you hate to see end. There is nothing like it. And so, I'll keep hunting for that next captivating story.
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