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.
Chanel is reading this...
...and this.
...and this...
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?
I'm reading this.
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.’
Stephen Chukumba 