It used to be that I spent October desperately trying not to have any historical emotions or memories, which left me too cotton-wooly to read or do much else other than sleep; then as time went on and I was finally willing to actually feel and remember I was too exhausted with the energy passing through, so I would read to escape, anything that came in long series and was more alike than not. One year it was Pratchett, but I usually choose Golden Age detective authors, preferably British, and read them in chronological order; I have done Octobers of Christie, of Marsh and Allingham, and of H. C. Bailey, whose books are difficult to find but I got lucky with a local library which had over a dozen. Last year it was Patricia Wentworth; I reread a dozen of her mysteries and several I had not previously encountered until suddenly it was November and I could see so clearly how her books were constructed that I could not make myself pick up another one.
This year in mid-September (for the calendar of the body does not always align to external time, and my October anniversary can begin as early as the end of August, although it does always end after All Saints Day) I did my usual hunt for a set of books to read and ended up queueing R. Austin Freeman's books about Dr. Thorndyke -- earlier than my usual fare, but I tried out the first one and it had the requisite elements, and they were readily available as ebooks from the library, so I was set to go...
And yet here were are in this mid-October of 2018 and I still have not read any more Freeman. The closest I have come to my traditional binge reading is Margery Sharp, but they going at a steady pace more typical of finding a new beloved author rather than reading one (or two or three) books a day that was typical when I was defending myself from the past. And in the meanwhile there are indeed emotions and memories, but they are just a thread through my days, woven in with volunteering and children and autumn-scented candles and the petting of cats and discovering new music on Spotify and watching Chinese dramas with our spouse and any number of other things. It is disconcerting to realise it, but this year, at least, October seems to be -- not just another month, not that exactly, but a month that offers itself to reflection amidst the busy everyday life, rather than a time in which the internal temperature falls and everyone holds very still in the hopes of avoiding a storm.
So, too tired to read very much, I am nonetheless reading; Margery Sharp as mentioned (I just got a copy of Rhododendron Pie via ILL), also Kate Milton's Greenglass House which is a middle grade book and thus far very satisfying; I think it is too many words for smol daughter, but I might try asking her father to read it out loud to her and see if it catches her interest. I am slowly reading Swann by Carol Shields, a 'literary detective story' from 1987 about academia and feminism and a woman who may or may not have been a poet. My slower non-fiction read is Janet Theophano's Eat My Words about women's cookbooks, and due to![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
yhlee I have Mathematics Elsewhere (Marcia Ascher) queued up -- I do not have enough math to understand the details but I will enjoy the surrounding concepts, and anything even tangentially Hexarchate related is catnip to me.
There are also all of the books I decided not to continue reading, but I think I will save them for another post -- most likely not today as I must soon assemble myself and go pipe icing with a friend, but perhaps my writing speed will surprise me.
This year in mid-September (for the calendar of the body does not always align to external time, and my October anniversary can begin as early as the end of August, although it does always end after All Saints Day) I did my usual hunt for a set of books to read and ended up queueing R. Austin Freeman's books about Dr. Thorndyke -- earlier than my usual fare, but I tried out the first one and it had the requisite elements, and they were readily available as ebooks from the library, so I was set to go...
And yet here were are in this mid-October of 2018 and I still have not read any more Freeman. The closest I have come to my traditional binge reading is Margery Sharp, but they going at a steady pace more typical of finding a new beloved author rather than reading one (or two or three) books a day that was typical when I was defending myself from the past. And in the meanwhile there are indeed emotions and memories, but they are just a thread through my days, woven in with volunteering and children and autumn-scented candles and the petting of cats and discovering new music on Spotify and watching Chinese dramas with our spouse and any number of other things. It is disconcerting to realise it, but this year, at least, October seems to be -- not just another month, not that exactly, but a month that offers itself to reflection amidst the busy everyday life, rather than a time in which the internal temperature falls and everyone holds very still in the hopes of avoiding a storm.
So, too tired to read very much, I am nonetheless reading; Margery Sharp as mentioned (I just got a copy of Rhododendron Pie via ILL), also Kate Milton's Greenglass House which is a middle grade book and thus far very satisfying; I think it is too many words for smol daughter, but I might try asking her father to read it out loud to her and see if it catches her interest. I am slowly reading Swann by Carol Shields, a 'literary detective story' from 1987 about academia and feminism and a woman who may or may not have been a poet. My slower non-fiction read is Janet Theophano's Eat My Words about women's cookbooks, and due to
yhlee I have Mathematics Elsewhere (Marcia Ascher) queued up -- I do not have enough math to understand the details but I will enjoy the surrounding concepts, and anything even tangentially Hexarchate related is catnip to me.There are also all of the books I decided not to continue reading, but I think I will save them for another post -- most likely not today as I must soon assemble myself and go pipe icing with a friend, but perhaps my writing speed will surprise me.
