In Medias Res

I've been trying to compose a post on Proust and love for the last week or so but have not managed to get my thoughts together for it. Tonight is no exception. In fact, it seems I can't get much thought together at all this evening. I am therefore resorting to an old standby when things get desperate: a reading update.   If you could see the corner of my desk--well you could if I took a picture but I am too embarrassed so I won't--and the pile of books that I am meaning to get to because I promised someone I would, mixed with the books I really want to get to, you'd wonder about my sanity. Or maybe not. Maybe you have a pile like this too, anchoring down a corner of your desk or table.   At the moment, however, I am very much enjoying the books I am actively reading. Thanks to your encouragement, I ditched the Conan Doyle book and began reading The Haunted Bookshop by Christopher Morley. I am so happy. This book is one hundred percent delightful. The shop is "haunted with great literature," but there is also a strange mystery going on around Carlyle's book Oliver Cromwell. It keeps disappearing and then reappearing only to disappear again and then turn up with a brand new binding. It's getting curiouser and curiouser.   Then, of course, I am deep into Indiana by George Sand. I have transferred all of my notes from my library edition to the one I was forced to buy. I turned in the library book with a note of invitation to the person who placed a hold on it (thanks for the great idea Susan!). And my fine for turning in the book three days late is $1.20. My library takes overdue books very seriously.   But I also have a new book from the library, Jasper Fforde's The Fourth Bear. I placed a hold on it two months ago and was number 80-something of close to 100 holds. And now it's my turn to read it and I have to pretend as though I don't see those books on the corner of my desk because I won't get to renew this one. I haven't begun it yet. I'll finish Indiana in a few days and then start Fourth Bear.   I have been feeling starved for nonfiction of late so I started The Devil is a Gentleman by J.C. Hallman, a book that Ella sent me when she was dispersing her personal library. I manage to squeeze in a few pages every other day or so. I am enjoying it very much thus far because he is currently writing about a particular religious group in my hometown of El Cajon in southern California. What a hoot! I don't want to say anything more because I am planning a post on it.   Proust, poor Proust, is being neglected at the moment. I will get back to him soon though, very likely by the end of this week. And I won't even mention all of the other books I have begun at various times that are also being neglected. But since the holidays are fast approaching and I get lots of time off around then, don't travel and have no family here I have to visit, I have lots of reading time to look forward to. Sigh.