New old books II

I can’t believe it has been FOUR years since this happened. And until this past weekend, I haven’t gone back once. (ALL THOSE WASTED OPPORTUNITIES JENNIFER LOOK AT YOUR LIFE LOOK AT YOUR CHOICES.) But in all seriousness I am grateful that I was able to catch the sale this year. It was fun browsing the tables and observing trends amongst the different genres. In the fiction section for instance, there were quite a lot of copies of Memoirs of a Geisha, as well as Toni Morrison’s Paradise. In the mystery section, Stieg Larsson’s The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo was popular, along with The Girl Who Played With Fire. (Although interestingly enough, The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet’s Nest was nowhere to be seen.) I found a near-pristine hardcover copy of David McCullough’s John Adams in the history section, and was seriously this close to buying it—IT WAS GOING FOR $2 YOU GUYS—but decided to be reasonable and left it for somebody else to enjoy. I have a copy, my dad has a copy … I even have the HBO miniseries on DVD. We really don’t need another copy.

I was lucky this year. I had a good catch. Lots of the books that I found and purchased were ones I was specifically hunting for.

  • The Call of the Wind and White Fang, by Jack London
  • Walden, by Henry David Thoreau
  • Frankenstein, by Mary Shelley (the 1818 text)
  • Treasure Island, by Robert Louis Stevenson
  • A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, by Betty Smith
  • Paradise, by Toni Morrison
  • Othello, by William Shakespeare
  • Twelfth Night, by William Shakespeare

A lot of classics, as you can see. Which is perfect, because I’ve made it my unofficial goal this summer to read as many classics as possible. In talking to my reader friends over the years, I noticed that I actually haven’t read all that many classics. True, I’ve made old friends out of Jane Austen, Charlotte Brontë, and John Steinbeck, but I’m practically strangers with the likes of Toni Morrison, Kurt Vonnegut, Ray Bradbury … pretty much the canon of American Literature at large. Even within the scope of British Lit—which was the apple of my academic eye in college—almost anything past the moors in Wuthering Heights, or the cobbled streets of Sherlockian London is unfamiliar territory. I have never read anything by George Eliot, and have only just made headway with Dickens. And let’s not even begin to talk about my unfamiliarity with minority literature. It’s about time I started catching up, and I hope to do lots of that this summer.

Readers—What are your reading goals this summer? Bought any new books recently?

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