o I’m doing that speed as best I can. Kinda.
I’m still in the midst of Infinite Jest, a tale of tennis and substance abuse recovery. It’s a fine book, clever and insightful, but goddamn slow. When you are in the midst of ten pages of description of the most minute moves of a tennis game between two teenagers, and all the reactions of the people in the stands, and then you get pulled into a ten-page footnote, well, it makes for every distracting reading. Truthfully, this damn thing sometimes puts me to sleep. But I’m going to push through it. What’s it been? Two months of effort? In my model train club, I spent three months gluing shingle on a barn so yes, I’m persistent.
But a few days back, I decided I needed a break. I’ve long been eyeing a book that seems to have popped onto my shelf (I don’t know where I got it) titled Fighter Pilot, detailing the first American ace in World War Two.
What a difference.
Instead of ten pages of blahblah, here the pace traveled at three hundred turbocharged miles an hour. All the swirling confusion of the fight over the invasion beaches, the air battle over Germany, all the fright and terror and craziness, all in two hundred easy-read pages. Loved it. Look for its review this Sunday.
As for Infinite, I’ve now returned to it. And I’ll mention that the break did me good – I’m actually enjoying it more. Oh, it’s still tedious and overwritten, but at least I’m enjoying the ironies.
What’s that old t-shirt I have say? So many books, so little time?
I gotta finish this bastard off!
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