Books

I don't know how long it has been since I last made a post on this blog. I suppose I could check, but I really don't care and neither does anyone else. However, I've had the feeling that I should write lately so here it goes.

I've been thinking a lot lately about books. I haven't been reading any books, mind you, just thinking about them. If anyone cares, the last book I read was The Last Boy (Just a terrible title. I understand the author's motivation, but still an awful title) about Mickey Mantle. It was a solid read, but nothing spectacular. Anyway, I've always had the desire to write a book. I don't really enjoy writing, but I enjoy reading what I write, if that makes any sense. And I've always been fascinated by novels, especially long ones (Tolstoy not Dickens). The ability to maintain a coherent series of thoughts over the course of several hundred pages is a fascinating skill that sadly eludes me. I suppose I could try to write a short story, but short stories are for wusses and "poets" (Hemingway excluded). If I were to write a book I would like for it to be a marathon of words. However, people would probably think I was trying to mimic Faulkner or Pinchot when really I was just writing a story about a man and his cat.

If I were to write a book, I would want it to be good, which is why I will never write a book. I'm not exactly sure what makes a book "good." I'm sure there is a formula for it that they teach you in literary theory classes (right, Renee) but in my experience you can tell if a book is good simply by the way you feel when you finish it. Good books usually leave me in a state of confused calm. The best example of this is One Hundred Years of Solitude. I read the whole book without ever having a clue what the hell was going on and I loved every minute of it. When I finished I felt as though I had experienced something great, even though I really had no idea what it was. I think my daughter feels this way whenever we read any of those Mo Willems books. I don't think she fully grasps the meaning of Dr. Cat, but I can tell just by looking at her that she understands his awesomeness.

In closing, the worst book ever written is Jane Eyre, and it's not even close. Curse you Charlotte Bronte. I much prefer staring at the endless cornfields of Nebraska from a poorly ventilated mini-van to reading your nonsensical drivel.