Whilst in Italia, the handful of you will remember that I was stranded without Internet access, spare the half hour here and there I'd spend next to my immigrant peeps at the Bengali Internet Cafe. Factoring in this and the fact that I spent what seemed to be three hours everyday on a bus or train gave me a great time to spend reading. And reading I did! I burned through the books I packed at record speed. Denton Welch, the Virginia Woolf's (Woolves?) I wanted to read, 'The Razor's Edge,' two Evelyn Waugh, etc, etc.
As I was living in Italy, I decided I wanted to read some Italian writers. Alessandro Manzoni's "I Promessi Sposi" (or "The Betrothed") is the book that everyone has to read as a teenager, and it's set on Como, a short drive from my house. Big mistake. There's a reason every Italian hates it. It goes on and on, and then you think your getting somewhere and then another character is introduced then his ancestry is described and on and on and on and on and on.
At page 300, I realized I didn't care if the 'betrothed' lived or died or if they even ended up together, but I definitely needed to put it down. Ever since I have been in a reading funk, and need something witty and mean (I wish Nancy Mitford was still alive) to nurse me back to life. I'm reading some Beverley Nichols, which seems to help, but if any of you have something ground-breaking, I'm all ears and hearing aids.