I’ve been in a reading slump so far this year. It hurts to admit, but it’s true. I don’t know why either. I could make the usual excuses: being busy, too distracted, not finding the right book. I won’t though – or not the last excuse, at least. ‘Not finding the right book’ is simply ridiculous. I’m the one who regularly has over forty library loans out at a time. There is value in all of them, sometimes I’m too lazy to bother (or I’m overwhelmed by the sheer volume there is to get through!!)
This month, there’s been a bit of a difference, found in the form of The Last Werewolf by Glen Duncan. It is an indicator of skill that he’s been able to write in the tired werewolf/vampire/supernatural genre with such flair and freshness. Quite often I’ve caught myself smiling while reading. I like it when books do that. It’s an interesting contrast to The Passage, which left me somewhat unmoved.
As for The Pale King, I should disclose I’ve not been able to read David Foster Wallace very easily, apart from a few short stories I’ve come across. He demands commitment from the reader; a commitment I’ve not yet been able to muster. At my own loss, so I’ve heard, from his legion of fans. But I will work at it – the first chapter is sublime.
The others: I read a rapturous review for Margo Lanagan’s new story collection Yellowcake and had to get a copy; and Martin Salisbury’s book about children’s book illustration to get an insight into the process (it’s very good, by the way). It reminded me again I need to storyboard my new one. I haven’t yet.
