By my own admission I do not like to read…books, that is. That is not to say that I am a complete ignoramus, but I’m pretty close.
My wife on the other hand, devours books. She usually reads two or three books at a time. Right now, she’s reading New England White, A Yellow Raft In Blue Water and Lost Symbol. Compared to her, I am a grunting Neanderthal, scrawling unintelligible symbols in the dirt.
She’s always talking about how good this or that author is, imploring me to pick up a book and read. I usually pshaw her, opting instead to click click clack away on my laptop. I’m on my computer all day, what do I need to pick up a book for?
Anyway, she’s just finished reading her second Stephen L. Carter book, and was gushing over how well he wrote. For a few years she’s been trying to get me to read his first book, The Emperor of Ocean Park, and I simply wasn’t having it.
But after she broke down the fact that he was an African American author, a mystery writer, and had a national bestseller, I gave in. And you know what? The book was damn good!
I couldn’t put the damn thing down! I was reading on the toilet, in bed, making breakfast, doing laundry. If I could drive and read at the same time, I would have. I’ve got about 150 pages to go (the book is 654 pages) and I can’t wait to find out ‘who dunnit.’