Friday, 1 July 2011
Oh, Come On: Asocial Ramblings
I picked up Eight White Nights by André Aciman yesterday (threw poor Mrs Dalloway to the side to start reading it) and have only gotten as far as 117 pages. People keep interrupting me; demanding my presence, opinion, attention and other such nonsense.
I just want to read.
I'm desperately trying to be a recluse, but they won't let me.
It's probably wrong that I'm more interested in these fictional characters than those in my real life, at the moment, but it's just that Aciman writes so beautifully. I'm expecting this to end badly - hoping it'll end badly; preferrably in utter heartbreak. Eight White Nights is, so far, nowhere near as magical as Call Me By Your Name, and right now it's more Aciman's words that the plot itself.
Note: I love Josh Ritter. I see him live once a year and have one of his song titles tattooed on my arm (to appear less as a stalker, I'll point out that I also have a song title from Turandot by Giacomo Puccini on the wrist of my other arm), so obviously I'm ridiculously excited about this book. And also apprehensive that it'll be bad.
But enough pontification (I love that saying), I have some more reading to do.