Yes, it's been a while but I'm reading again. I read two stories in this week's fiction themed The New Yorker. The Mary Gaitskill one because she's a literary hero of mine and the Annie Proulx one because "Tits-Up In A Ditch" is possibly one of the greatest titles of all time. Man, Proulx's story is really depressing. They're both worth reading but don't expect to laugh much.
A less depressing read was Sloane Crosley's I Was Told There'd Be Cake collection of essays.
I don't have a ton to say about the book except that it was a fun, quick, easy, readable read. N. will tell you that I'm a big user of the adjective readable. But I think it fits a purpose. When I describe something as readable, I put it in category of being somewhat light, not great, but not something you need to put down on page 30 either. As a writer, I aim to write a readble book (before a great one) just because it seems like mostly you'd want your book to be read. Duh. I think there's a time and a place for the readable as opposed to the great work of literature. Airplanes, beaches, times in your life when there's a lot going on (like babies and moves).
IWTTBC was a good book to somewhat impulsively buy at the Borders in NH last week. I was able to get into the essays about life in NYC, moving, her family, camp, relationships, bad bosses right away.
I read and enjoyed the book but halfway through I decided that when I finished it I'd give it to a friend who's jetting off to Europe this week. Like, I said, a good read when you're 30,000 feet above sea level. After that, you can pass it on rather than make room on your overcrowded shelf.
Crosley is the kind of person you might want to hate because she's less than 30 and according to the Internet everyone loves her. But she's a good enough, funny enough writer that I didn't really hate her. Plus, I heard from a source that she's kind of a spaz in real life. And you just can't hate the spaz. Or cake. Isn't cake wonderful?
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