Readings

I have read a few things lately, perhaps not as much as one might think since I used to do most of my reading on the el and I've been too busy to plop on the sofa and read these past few days. (My mom asked how I was enjoying being home all day. Home? I've been running around like a madman since I retired, busier than I ever was at work. I think this is the first day I haven't left the house yet. And I'm not leaving tonight, since they're spraying our area for mosquitoes. The public health department called with an automated message assuring us that the threat of West Nile Virus is real and this insecticide is perfectly safe, however, we ought to close our windows and bring pets and children's toys inside tonight. I am hermetically sealing the house, although it's probably too late for my baby to be genetically altered.)

• This month's Atlantic (the erstwhile Atlantic Monthly) is chock full of good articles. The extensive piece on Arafat is recommended reading, especially for the few lefties out there who still want to deny that he did more to fuck over the Palestinian people than the Israelis ever could. There is also a review of the new Rushdie novel, which is receiving praise from all quarters. (Sounds like he's finally recovered from mooning over his hot girlfriend and has returned to serious writing.) Looks like we'll be using some Amazon points to buy it in hardcover, since I doubt I can wait a year.
• The Confessions of Max Tivoli was highly blurbed by all sorts of hotshot writers and critics, but it didn't quite do it for me. It was a great premise and a quick read but it just didn't grab me.
• The Same Sea by Amos Oz was quite beautiful, more poetry than prose, its fragmentary nature creating an emotionally rich atmosphere rather than interfering with the story.
• Foolscap by Michael Malone was incredibly enjoyable and, if someone wants some summer reading, this is the novel. The academic in-fighting scenes were hilarious, the characters well drawn, and the Raleigh play subplot delicious. The love interest of the protagonist was a bit put on, which is the only flaw in a tremendously fun book.
• I just started Daniel Derronda this morning. The question is, will I finish it before the baby arrives? If, as my fairy Godmother predicts, the baby arrives on the 8th, that gives me a week to read 850 pages of that small Penguin Classics font. My Buffy Netflix start arriving tomorrow, so I better go buckle down and burry my nose in some George Elliot. But first, a few more household chores. I am turning into an unstoppable cleaning machine. Nesting, perhaps?