Behind Books

Well, my reading goal was to have read 30 books by the end of June. Right now I am in the midst of #27, David Grossman's Her Body Knows, which was finally translated into English. Sometimes I think I should work on my Hebrew just so I don't have to wait 3 years to read his books, but to gain reading fluency in another language would take a hell of a lot of time. I had to read a few art history articles in French in college and it took me bloody forever, with a dictionary by my side the whole time. In terms of novels, anything past the 5th grade reading level in French eludes me (without the dictionary), although I could probably pick up a couple of grades with a little effort. My French reading skills out pace my aural comprehension skills by about 5 years. (Damn accents!) I couldn't read much more than Dick and Jane (Shlmo v' Elisheva?) in Hebrew right now. When I took my 3 university quarters of German in 8 weeks --not highly recommended by the way -- by the end of the session I was reading Mann and Brecht short stories, which is pretty amazing since I cannot remember more than 5 phrases of German right now, so I guess anything is possible with a bit of dedication and a ton of time. Or a ton of dedication and a bit of time.

Anyway, I am a bit behind on my reading, primarily due to moving and napping. I plan on finishing the Grossman this weekend and at least one other book over our weekend getaway. I guess that's pretty close to my goal. Some friends say they read a lot while breast feeding on maternity leave, others say as soon as they had a baby their reading slowed down tremendously. Only time shall tell. Since we have no cable, and thus no reception, at least I won't be watching TV as I become a milk fountain, although I do have all the seasons of Buffy in our Netflix cue just waiting for me to give birth. Or maybe that's until I leave work, 2 weeks before my due date. Hmm.

The Grossman is, of course, excellent. Forget this, "He's one of the best writers in Hebrew business," he's frankly one of the best writers writing now. From the charm of the Zig Zag Kid to the despair of The Book of Intimate Grammar, the accute assessment of the political situation of Smile of the Lamb and his journalism to his examination of love and jealousy in Be My Knife and his most recent novellas that I'm currently reading, he has an extraordinary range and emotional poignancy that I find pretty much unmatchable in any other author.

I also just slogged through Leonard Cohen's Beautiful Losers. I wish I hadn't. I love Cohen as a songwriter and a poet but, despite Nextbook's recommendation of his 1964 novel, reading his book was tough going in a why-the-hell-can't-this-end-already kind of way and, although totaly unrelated, has turned me off of his music temporarily. Yes, I know it was about sex and death and loss and so forth, but I got over Henry Miller a decade ago. Also, guys, unless you're really funny please, please, pretty please keep the masturbation scenes down to two per novel! I know it may be an essential part of your day, but so is drinking water and how many descriptions does one need to read of that? Portnoy's Complaint or Sabbath's Theater aside (Philip Roth has earned his right to multiple masturbation scenes per novel), reading about tossing off gets boring fast, even as a metaphor. Especially as a metaphor.