Looks like I’ve been reading the wrong books

                All the angst a writer and reader doesn’t need this first month of the new year: Comes Huffington Post with a list of books written in the last five years that “you should add to the pile on your bedside table.” Though I read, albeit belatedly, the New York Times Book Reviews, thanks to my son Gordon, I’d heard about only one—Donna Tartt’s The Goldfinch. Two folks I know have read it.

                No, my reading (I was a music major, remember) is not quite up to all modern—except for my own three books and those of my friends. I’m way behind on reading the classics.

                A year ago, during January, I read four of Virginia Wolff’s: Mrs. Dalloway, To the Lighthouse, Orlando, and Jacob’s Room. In February, two more of hers: The Waves and Three Guineas. In April, I gave all those books to the Writers Colony at Dairy Hollow.

                In April, I read Ann Patchett’s Run, plus, Talya Boerner’s Gracie Lee book.

                May brought three Kindle book pleasures: Sharon Laborde’s A Year in the Heartland, Dan Krotz’s Semi Faithful: More Coffee with John Heartbreak, and Jane Hirshfield on Basho. Edna St. Vincent Millay’s Renascence and Other Poems I read in one sitting. On the last day of the month, I began a book that grandson Billy had touted for years. I’d found a battered paperback somewhere of Watership Down and bought it. As my son says of some of the books he’s read, “This goes on my 10 Best Books Ever list.” This one goes on my list.

                In June, I read Margo Kaufman’s This Damn House, a gift from a sister. NOTE TO MYSELF: Read the other books she gave you.

                July brought a biggie birthday followed by a week-long sisters’ trip to mid-Tennessee. On the way home, I began––and finished––Carol Shield’s book of short stories, Dressing Up for the Carnival.

August’s reading included Ray Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451, May Sarton’s Coming into Eighty, b-f-f Dot Hatfield’s Did Anyone Read My Story?, Madelyn Young’s Views from an Empty Nest, Virginia Ironside’s No! I Don’t Want to Join a Book Club, Charlene Baumbich’s Dearest Dorothy, If Not Now, When? and Donald Hall’s Essays After Eighty.

Gustave Flaubert’s Madame Bovary, Priya Parmar’s Vanessa and Her Sister (who was Virginia Woolf), Chelsea Handler’s Hello Vodka, It’s Me, Chelsea (ugh), and Jaquelyn Mitchard’s Christmas, Present were September’s readings.

A dual biography, Hemingway Vs. Fitzgerald by Scott Donaldson, and a memoir, Tarzan Wore Chaps by Woody Barlow, constituted October’s literary accomplishments.

Of the two pre-Christmas gifts of books, Georgianne Ensign’s Great Endings has been read, but B. L. Mulkey’s Hope Springs Eternal is only begun. I had to finish re-reading George Orwell’s 1984 first. Now that’s done, so I’ll pick up Barbara’s book.

Forget what others say you should read! Read what you want to. Or need to. I’m thinking of going back to all of Jane Austen’s titles. Then perhaps Joan Hess’ Maggody and Claire Malloy mystery series.

Happy reading this new year!