Eclectic Taste

I've always thought that I have pretty eclectic tastes in reading. Lately I've realised that my tastes, are only mildly eclectic, are restricted in the main to novels, and fall into the general categories of "Contemporary" , Sci-Fi, Detective and Cult fiction. For all that, it seems diverse to me.

A couple of days ago I was reading a comment from Bookslut about Nick Hornby's article. "I like Nick Hornby, but was anyone actually waiting for his permission to read whatever they want? I'd say: Read what you want and develop a thick skin." You know what though? I think some of us actually were waiting for someone like Nick Hornby to say that it's okay to read whatever you enjoy. Yes, that's a bit sad. But the book world is set up like that - some works are considered more "worthy" than others.

That's not to say that I don't want critical reviews on books, because I do. But there's a difference between the critics giving a constructive opinion, and readers (or other critics) belittling what other people want to read. Every reader, his or her book, right?

Hefty Tomes for the Europe Trip

I have this idealised plan, that one day I'm going to do a 3-month car tour of Europe. During this trip, I'm going to read all the 1000+ page novels that I've been putting off all my life.

The idea isn't too far fetched, apart from the part where I have a full-time job that I need to keep up, and I doubt that they will give me 3 months leave on the trot. That doesn't stop me from creating a list though.

1. Ulysses by James Joyce
2. A Suitable Boy by Vikram Seth
3. War and Peace by Leo Tolstoy
4. Don Quixote by Miguel de Cervantes

If that's not enough, I might throw in:

• Infinite Jest by David Foster Wallace, and
• Gravity's Rainbow by Thomas Pynchon (which isn't over 1000 pages, but pretty close)

Other suggestions?

James Joyce

Looking at my copy of A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, I'm reminded of a post I saw recently on LibraryThing Groups. A young member posted, asking for book recommendations suitable for their 13 years. Along with a lot of very interesting looking YA books, someone piped up to say that they had been reading James Joyces' Ulysses at 13.

I have to admit, that I'm still not brave enough to face it at 30. I read 1/10th of it for University English - literally 1/10th, as that was what copyright law allowed for the purposes of study guides. I suppose I shouldn't be too intimidated since I usually like stream of consciousness style writing, and that makes up a pretty hefty chunk, but something like that could take up a month of my life. Or even two. And given the number of books I'm hoping to get through in my lifetime, this one could cut the numbers considerably. I guess this one will just have to go into my "Hefty Tomes for the Europe Trip" list (more on this in a moment...)

The "To Read" Stack

(As of August 2006)

Really, I'm struggling for room next to my bed - I can't move for my "To Read" stack. I just get it down to what I think might be a reasonable level, then I suddenly spot a half-price must have, or the perfect book for my current mood. In reality, the pile never gets any smaller. The truth is - I just don't care anymore. I love the act of owning them as much as I love reading them.

So without further ado, the list is as follows:

1. The Eyre Affair by Jasper Fforde
2. Saving Fish From Drowning by Amy Tan
3. On Beauty by Zadie Smith
4. The Buddha of Suburbia by Hanif Kureishi
5. Friends, Lovers, Chocolate by Alexander McCall Smith
6. Sputnik Sweetheart by Haruki Murakami
7. Naked Lunch by William S. Burroughs
8. A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man by James Joyce
9. The Sirens of Titan by Kurt Vonnegut
10. The Outsider by Albert Camus

Actually now I look at it, it's not too long a list really. Or is it?

Future Classics

The Telegraph has a great article by Nick Hornby, advocating reading what you enjoy. It's so obvious, and yet so many people slog on with books they hate. I get tired of snobbish readers who seem to think that if you enjoy it, it isn't worth reading (or alternately, if it belongs to a certain genre such as Sci-Fi, Chick Lit, Fantasy and so on, that it's trash). I always point out to people that Shakespeare was the "trash lit" (or Dan Brown) of his day. Take As You Like It - entertainment for the masses was the whole point. And who knows what will be considered "Classic" in 200 years?

Reading this is making me look forward even more to Hornby's talk at Foyles next month. He'll be talking about The Complete Polysyllabic Spree, (based on his columns for McSweeney's). I'm hoping for a bit of readerly inspiration (no pressure, Nick, of course...)

Latest Addictions

As well as being addicted to LibraryThing, I've lately been increasingly drawn to books about books. I've been thumbing through my copy of The Rough Guide to Cult Fiction in the last few days, discovering a band of "must-read" authors. I've even started a list of just the books I really, really want to read from 1001 Books You Must Read Before You Die.

While I love these books, it's also a bit of a reality check. Last year, I read about 60 books, give or take. That means that if I live for another 50 years, I'm only going to read another 3,000 books. Somehow that doesn't seem like a whole lot to me when you consider that the publishing industry is spitting out 2000 titles per week.

What's in a name?

When naming this blog (far more difficult than naming a child - at least there are books for that), Reading Underground was the name that stuck. And the more I'm stuck with it, the more apt it is.

The initial premise of the blog was to record interesting books that I saw people reading while I was travelling on the underground (it passed the time, and I found some great reading matter). Later, as I stopped taking the tube so much and the focus of the blog began to change, I wondered if it was still a relevant name.

Enter fate. Since the inception of this blog, I moved house. In the new place, it just so happens that our bedroom is in the basement of the house. And as I do most of my reading in the bedroom, it turns out that I'm still Reading Underground.

And so, the blog continues...