Yesterday was a funny old day, filled with abandoned plans. I did in fact bring the Society's books up to date in the morning, reconciling bank statements, balancing the check book, filing awards and membership lists, but of the rest of the plans nothing came.
The reason is that the day turned into a marathon reading session. The night before, three chapters into Reading Lolita in Tehran, and still wavering between reading Nabokov first or completing the Nafisi, I suddenly decided to clear away the Secret History.
It looks harmless enough, about the same thickness as most novels, and quite a bit thinner than most thrillers. Once opened however, the fine paper reveals that you are getting a lot more pages per inch than is the norm. Five hundred and fifty-eight of them, to be precise.
After finishing the Society's accounts, I decided on a nap in true vacationing fashion - instead the book hi-jacked me and held me captive. Almost without noticing 220 pages or so flew by.
When I emerged to comments of "Some nap you had," I protested by sleepless state, and defended my story by citing my progress in the book.
Big mistake. All of a sudden completing the book became a family goal. If I set my foot outside the room, I would be reprimanded and sent back - after an inquiry to the current page tally.
Apart from a quick dinner break, and a lovely hot shower before crawling into bed, I had my nose glued to the book, now in the armchair, then crosswise on the bed, back in the armchair, one leg slung over the arm, back on the bed, sitting on the floor with my knees drawn up, back to the chair...
By 10.50 p.m. I had reached page 546. Twelve to go I saw when I jerked awake from my moment's slumber. This would normally be my signal to turn out the light but - the end was so tantalizingly near. So I forced open my eyes, shuffled myself into a better position among the pillows, and determined to finish.
During the next five drop off/jerk awake sessions I managed to progress to page 547. Just barely.
Conceding defeat I finally turned out the light around 11.30 p.m.
This reminds me so much of being a student the first time around, of the way that sleep would just move right in, take up residence behind my eyelids whenever I bent my head over a text book, no matter how many times I shook my head, how much cold water I would splash in my face, how vigorously I would jog in place or do jumpin' jacks.
And then at other times sleep can be such an elusive thing, retreating, always just outside the range of my desperate grasp.
I finished the book first thing this morning. And am perversely wishing that the book had been just a bit longer, giving just a glimpse more of the "what next."
The reason is that the day turned into a marathon reading session. The night before, three chapters into Reading Lolita in Tehran, and still wavering between reading Nabokov first or completing the Nafisi, I suddenly decided to clear away the Secret History.
It looks harmless enough, about the same thickness as most novels, and quite a bit thinner than most thrillers. Once opened however, the fine paper reveals that you are getting a lot more pages per inch than is the norm. Five hundred and fifty-eight of them, to be precise.
After finishing the Society's accounts, I decided on a nap in true vacationing fashion - instead the book hi-jacked me and held me captive. Almost without noticing 220 pages or so flew by.
When I emerged to comments of "Some nap you had," I protested by sleepless state, and defended my story by citing my progress in the book.
Big mistake. All of a sudden completing the book became a family goal. If I set my foot outside the room, I would be reprimanded and sent back - after an inquiry to the current page tally.
Apart from a quick dinner break, and a lovely hot shower before crawling into bed, I had my nose glued to the book, now in the armchair, then crosswise on the bed, back in the armchair, one leg slung over the arm, back on the bed, sitting on the floor with my knees drawn up, back to the chair...
By 10.50 p.m. I had reached page 546. Twelve to go I saw when I jerked awake from my moment's slumber. This would normally be my signal to turn out the light but - the end was so tantalizingly near. So I forced open my eyes, shuffled myself into a better position among the pillows, and determined to finish.
During the next five drop off/jerk awake sessions I managed to progress to page 547. Just barely.
Conceding defeat I finally turned out the light around 11.30 p.m.
This reminds me so much of being a student the first time around, of the way that sleep would just move right in, take up residence behind my eyelids whenever I bent my head over a text book, no matter how many times I shook my head, how much cold water I would splash in my face, how vigorously I would jog in place or do jumpin' jacks.
And then at other times sleep can be such an elusive thing, retreating, always just outside the range of my desperate grasp.
I finished the book first thing this morning. And am perversely wishing that the book had been just a bit longer, giving just a glimpse more of the "what next."
Comments (10)
Oh my goodness, that was funny! I could picture myself in the same state ... it isn't hard, because I'm often there. Except that my finishing a book is never a family affair. I finish them despite the family, it seems.
Posted by Chrysalis | December 31, 2004 8:15 AM
Posted on December 31, 2004 08:15
Just added A Secret History to my wish list. Thanks for the lead!
Posted by Karan | December 31, 2004 8:22 AM
Posted on December 31, 2004 08:22
It's almost sad to finish a good book isn't it? My children are just learning that. What a pleasure to hear them say "I didn't want it to end.'
Happy New Year.
Posted by blackbird | December 31, 2004 8:24 AM
Posted on December 31, 2004 08:24
I love her writing. It really is like reading a film. You get all the scenery and the nuance and it has a dream like quality as well. I agree, I never want her books to end. now you have to read 'The Little Friend'
Posted by jo | December 31, 2004 11:14 AM
Posted on December 31, 2004 11:14
Somewhere on AZ and my shelves is a copy of A Secret History - I never got into it, but maybe I should give it another shot.
The whole 'sleep/no sleep/sleep overtakes' cycle is one familiar.
Posted by Eric Sinclair | December 31, 2004 2:27 PM
Posted on December 31, 2004 14:27
Karan - you're welcome. Jo's comment sums up the experience.
Posted by Sivani | January 1, 2005 8:54 AM
Posted on January 1, 2005 08:54
Merle - aha, we've got them hooked now!
To me it is a test of the believability of the characters; I never wonder what they did next when the novel was peopled by cardboard cutouts.
Posted by Sivani | January 1, 2005 8:57 AM
Posted on January 1, 2005 08:57
Eric - you're right. It took me two tries and maybe fifty pages to get going. Once on board though, you're in for a roller coaster ride.
By the way, I see that you've recently finished Brick Lane; did you find it a worthwhile read?
Oh, and thanks (I think) for steering me toward allconsuming.net (albeit passively). I can see that I will have to exercise great restraint, or it would indeed turn into an all consuming activity for me.
Posted by Sivani | January 1, 2005 9:00 AM
Posted on January 1, 2005 09:00
Jo -
"I love her writing." - Oh wow, thanks.
"It really is like reading a film." - It is?
"You get all the scenery and the nuance and it has a dream like quality as well." - Hmm, I think you have the wrong person here.
"I agree, I never want her books to end." - Oops, you meant the author, Donna Tartt. *embarrased*
:-)
Thanks for the lead of the Little Friend. I read the blurb in the back of the book, and wondered. I got the feeling it might be an Emmett Till-type story. Would that be accurate?
Posted by Sivani | January 1, 2005 9:16 AM
Posted on January 1, 2005 09:16
Chrys - I guess at one level I am fortunate to have a family of readers assembled around me, though none quite as voracious as me.
Even so, normally dedicated efforts to immerse oneself in a book would also be met with the obstacles of daily life here. I think the support here had dual roots: first, the immensity and the unlikeliness of the target appealed to their funny spots. Second, I had started to read the Reading Lolita in Tehran aloud, first to Nini in the car on the way home, and next to my husband.
Reading aloud is something I do occasionally, and for some obscure reason they seem to like it. In this case, The Secret History was a declared obstacle to be cleared away before I would resume my reading aloud.
(Nothing like a little incentive to get people behind you, I guess!)
Posted by Sivani | January 1, 2005 9:25 AM
Posted on January 1, 2005 09:25