No, I haven't read The Help.
Or Twilight.
Or Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy.
Or The Hunger Games.
Or anything not related to Pride and Prejudice....since 2009.
O.k.
2008.
I am that person who, inexplicably even to myself, has been completely and happily submerged in a Darcy and Elizabeth bubble not even broken by the unfortunate zombie book incident.
(O.k, yes, I read the Harry Potter series to my kids and I have read many books on and for educating my children...but those were during the DAY time reading. Day time reading is entirely different from what one reads in the evening.)
These are just the books I haven't reveiwed yet.
Not the stack of 20 already on my shelf.
It is a compulsion.
And the actual wonderful thing about reading them is that they swirl around in my brain in a delightful slush and then I can't remember what happened when and where and I read them again. (People don't talk up the good in having a bad memory enough.)
I hear it.
Crazy talk from someone who has always read everything.
At 12:20 am this morning, I grabbed my robe, pulled on my socks and shuffled into the living room. On page 65 of Abigail Reynold's, By Force Of Instinct, I knew I might as well get up and read the remaining 200 pages on the sofa (instead of trying to silently turn pages without waking John David).
And then I will talk about them with anyone who will listen. And then I will talk about them for 5 minutes beyond when I can tell that person might be done listening. And maybe as they walk away....
(Not quite that much.)
But what some may call compulsion and obsessiveness, I consider to be a thoroughness and loyalty.
Now, I must get back to my book.
I really hope things work out between these two.....
