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A change in tone
Mar. 24th, 2005 11:57 amAn inside cubicle
Sometime preceeding lunchtime
It may astonish you, dear reader, to be subject to such wildly vaccilating tones and manners of address as I use in my journal. Fear not - it is indeed neither your imagination, nor due to any mental instability on my part. It is rather, due to the prevailing influences of my reading material.
There are some, I know from acquaintance, who struggle to read, or who, in the pursuit of autodidaction, note down which books they have read in order to acheive a full fifty (or one hundred, or whichever number they have decided is appropriate) I do not - I never struggle to find books to read, but rather wait patiently and the books will fling themselves upon me, and I will procede to devour them (that is, read) with as much enthusiasm as the books have bestowed upon me.
One might think that recommending books to me is a good idea, rather, I more often than not find myself wandering away from such tomes, struck by disinterest. You see, the book itself has not bestowed its attentions upon me, and so I feel little other than the onus of friendship to recommend the book to me. And alas, that is rarely enough. Sometimes, I will run across the book at a later date and become enamoured of it - this was the case with both Terry Pratchett and Jane Austen - the nature of the first's genius was not fully imparted to me, only his genius, and thus, did not spark my interest, and the second - I was simply unable to appreciate Austen upon our first introduction in high school, only to fall madly into a passion for her in college.
No, indeed, the best way to recommend a book to me is to leave it on a shelf and allow me access to said shelves, to browse in a moment of leisure. At lunch on Tuesday, my regular schedule was disrupted by the necessity of a visit to another part of our organization, and my colleague invited me to take luncheon with her at her domicile. It was a short, brisk walk, made brisker by the wind and my lack of a heavy jacket, and I was able to make the acquaintance of her dog Maggie. After lunch, perforce, Maggie must be walked at least to the nearest bushes and back, and I was left inside to eye the bookshelves in my colleague's living room.
Oh, bliss, to thus stumble over an author to be worshipped! Enshrined! Fortunately, my colleague was most obliging, and did not object to me carrying off a trio of books from her shelves. Thusly, I have been introduced to Ms Sarah Caudwell, with which whose three mystery novels I have found myself transported. Indeed, her genius is such that she makes tax barristers into the liveliest and most interesting of characters!
And so you see, while I eschew recommendations made to myself, I have not a jot of compunction against doling out recommendations of my own.
And lo, the hour of noon approaches - so while my body shall be at the whim of the elliptical machine, my mind shall be in London, communing with a group of tax lawyers and an Oxford don as they attempt to figure out the age-old question: whodunit?
Sometime preceeding lunchtime
It may astonish you, dear reader, to be subject to such wildly vaccilating tones and manners of address as I use in my journal. Fear not - it is indeed neither your imagination, nor due to any mental instability on my part. It is rather, due to the prevailing influences of my reading material.
There are some, I know from acquaintance, who struggle to read, or who, in the pursuit of autodidaction, note down which books they have read in order to acheive a full fifty (or one hundred, or whichever number they have decided is appropriate) I do not - I never struggle to find books to read, but rather wait patiently and the books will fling themselves upon me, and I will procede to devour them (that is, read) with as much enthusiasm as the books have bestowed upon me.
One might think that recommending books to me is a good idea, rather, I more often than not find myself wandering away from such tomes, struck by disinterest. You see, the book itself has not bestowed its attentions upon me, and so I feel little other than the onus of friendship to recommend the book to me. And alas, that is rarely enough. Sometimes, I will run across the book at a later date and become enamoured of it - this was the case with both Terry Pratchett and Jane Austen - the nature of the first's genius was not fully imparted to me, only his genius, and thus, did not spark my interest, and the second - I was simply unable to appreciate Austen upon our first introduction in high school, only to fall madly into a passion for her in college.
No, indeed, the best way to recommend a book to me is to leave it on a shelf and allow me access to said shelves, to browse in a moment of leisure. At lunch on Tuesday, my regular schedule was disrupted by the necessity of a visit to another part of our organization, and my colleague invited me to take luncheon with her at her domicile. It was a short, brisk walk, made brisker by the wind and my lack of a heavy jacket, and I was able to make the acquaintance of her dog Maggie. After lunch, perforce, Maggie must be walked at least to the nearest bushes and back, and I was left inside to eye the bookshelves in my colleague's living room.
Oh, bliss, to thus stumble over an author to be worshipped! Enshrined! Fortunately, my colleague was most obliging, and did not object to me carrying off a trio of books from her shelves. Thusly, I have been introduced to Ms Sarah Caudwell, with which whose three mystery novels I have found myself transported. Indeed, her genius is such that she makes tax barristers into the liveliest and most interesting of characters!
And so you see, while I eschew recommendations made to myself, I have not a jot of compunction against doling out recommendations of my own.
And lo, the hour of noon approaches - so while my body shall be at the whim of the elliptical machine, my mind shall be in London, communing with a group of tax lawyers and an Oxford don as they attempt to figure out the age-old question: whodunit?
