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i love my books
Oct. 29th, 2003 03:05 pmI dream and wake up, do sit-ups on the rug, stare at my shelves, address more invitations, send emails, drink lemony hibiscus tea, listen to Alan talk with his father, wonder what I should read.
I knew there was a reason I avoided American literature. Faulkner is currently irritating the living daylights out of me, and I would like to hurl the paperback across the room. There are many good artistic reasons for using dialect but I hate reading it, trying to sound it out. This may be why I can't read Twain. I have enough trouble pronouncing words correctly without this added complication.
My paticular speech impediment seems to be creeping back into my voice. This was not so bad when I never spoke. But I catch myself stuttering, transposing words and mispronouncing things at least once a day now. It bothers me. Maybe they should cut my tongue again? I read an article that Southeast Asian mother were now paying for the same thing to be done to their children in an effort to make their accents less heavy when learning English.
I want to read Shakespeare & Company again. After years of searching I turned up a copy of my own. In high school Doc loaned it to me, along with a first edition leatherbound copy of The Razor's Edge. I read Somerset Maugham obsessively in high school, and Of Human Bondage might still be the single book I've the most times. Doc loaned me the books because he knew it would encourage whatever hidden expression I kept, I think. Beach's book made me want to travel overseas and didn't help me have much sympathy for James Joyce. I think about Doc even now, and I wish I could find him. Bloody hard to find a man named John William Smith, even with the distinctive wardrobe and resume. We used to wonder if he was in a protection program of sorts, and came up with a number of X-Files influenced theories on the subject.
I knew there was a reason I avoided American literature. Faulkner is currently irritating the living daylights out of me, and I would like to hurl the paperback across the room. There are many good artistic reasons for using dialect but I hate reading it, trying to sound it out. This may be why I can't read Twain. I have enough trouble pronouncing words correctly without this added complication.
My paticular speech impediment seems to be creeping back into my voice. This was not so bad when I never spoke. But I catch myself stuttering, transposing words and mispronouncing things at least once a day now. It bothers me. Maybe they should cut my tongue again? I read an article that Southeast Asian mother were now paying for the same thing to be done to their children in an effort to make their accents less heavy when learning English.
I want to read Shakespeare & Company again. After years of searching I turned up a copy of my own. In high school Doc loaned it to me, along with a first edition leatherbound copy of The Razor's Edge. I read Somerset Maugham obsessively in high school, and Of Human Bondage might still be the single book I've the most times. Doc loaned me the books because he knew it would encourage whatever hidden expression I kept, I think. Beach's book made me want to travel overseas and didn't help me have much sympathy for James Joyce. I think about Doc even now, and I wish I could find him. Bloody hard to find a man named John William Smith, even with the distinctive wardrobe and resume. We used to wonder if he was in a protection program of sorts, and came up with a number of X-Files influenced theories on the subject.