Repeat readers will be happy to hear that I finally finished reading Stephen King’s Under The Dome. Having closed the cover and had a chance to sit down thoughtfully with a cup of tea, it does feel like I picked the wrong season for the book. Despite its intimidating size, it was very much the sort of novel that would work best taken to the beach, or the cottage dock, I think—
I regret to report that I am still not through UNDER THE DOME. However, I’m getting closer. In the meantime, I had an interesting conversation that got me thinking about how I’ve changed as a reader, and seem to be slowing down as I get older.
it’s always refreshing to pick up a book by a writer you’ve never read, but who often seems to be mentioned in glowingly positive terms, and find yourself enjoying the story they’ve put together. More than that, to find the book not quite like anything else you’ve read before, here in an age where libraries can be downloaded in an afternoon, could be construed as a minor (and very entertaining) miracle.
J.D. Salinger passed away a few days ago. He’s most famous for Catcher in the Rye of course, although he wrote several other stories as well, but I have the sneaking suspicion that, if he were here, old J.D. Would prefer I not talk about him, so let’s focus on something else instead:
My apologies for the silence since the New Year. I haven’t gotten any columns out this month, and I feel bad about that.
