From One Book Lover

The time has come, the Walrus said, to talk of many things... Which for me usually means books . It's been years since I mentioned my "Filling in the Gaps" list, and for good reasons. One, I have knocked a few more off my list (including, but not limited to, Ender's Game and Tobacco Road ). Second, the list evolved into an interactive project with Carole regarding Weighty Reads. We chose 20 books to read in the ensuing years, with a few related books included along the way. For those of you playing along at home, "Filling in the Gaps" is a list of 100 books the reader strives to finish in five years. I first posted my list in 2010 . I have not finished all 100 books.  My list has changed little since 2010, usually because I realized I already read it. A few others fell off the list because I didn't want to read them after all, while others have regained their seat at the table. For example, does Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance re...

The year began with a bang but ended with a bit of a whimper, I am sorry to say. My total book consumption was a little shy of six dozen books, but I read only one novel in December: All the Light We Cannot See. I started the year out favorably with one of my favorites of the year: The House of Silk , a Sherlock Holmes novel authorized by the estate of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. It is worthy: while still writing in the style of the original, Anthony Horowitz brings The House of Silk — and Holmes' usual suspect — gingerly, but strongly, into the modern-day mindset ( review ). Horowitz's follow-up, Moriarty , hit the shelves right before Christmas, and it's on my list of January reads. A favorite read from 2011, Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children ( review ) was followed up in 2014 by Hollow City . It also was wonderful, but it wasn't the end — which will please author Ransom Riggs' fans. It was not the only series on my reading list in 2014. I co...

What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why (Sonnet XLIII) What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why, I have forgotten, and what arms have lain Under my head till morning; but the rain Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh Upon the glass and listen for reply, And in my heart there stirs a quiet pain For unremembered lads that not again Will turn to me at midnight with a cry. Thus in winter stands the lonely tree, Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one, Yet knows its boughs more silent than before: I cannot say what loves have come and gone, I only know that summer sang in me A little while, that in me sings no more. -Edna St. Vincent Millay