I’ve been on a giving up on books streak lately.
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Read the prologue of Wilmington’s Lie by David Zucchino and gave up on it. It angried up my blood too much. Plus it reminded me of why I left eastern North Carolina. It did inspire me to look up my alma mater to see if they renamed Charles B. Aycock dorm. Narrator: they did.
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Read the first hundred pages of Trilby by George du Maurier, gave up on it because the edition the local library had (Everyman from the 1970s) did not have any footnotes, endnotes, or a helpful person to translate the pages of French. Ich spreche kein Französich. I’ll have to hunt down a Penguin edition through interlibrary loan because I know they translate the French.
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Read the first five pages of All the King’s Men by Robert Penn Warren and closed it firmly. It’s mid-20th century white male literature, a genre I loathe. Also I hate the Penn Warren’s writing style.
The one book that has survived the culling from my latest library trip is Augustus by John Williams. We’ll see how long that one lasts. Ancient Rome is totally in my wheelhouse so I’m predicting (hopefully) that I’ll get all the way through it.
I told a lie in the last paragraph. There is one other book that survived: Death Ex Machina. I know I’m going to get through that one, probably in one sitting. I love the Nico and Diotima mysteries.