an excuse for a reading list
how I judge how amazing a book is: while I'm reading, it's the almost unconscious flick of a thumb over the remaining width of pages. then, the contradictory conflation of emotions: a surge of disappointment at how little is left, entwined with a surge of impatience at how much is left. the former, because the best books should never have to end (#122), and the latter, because anticipation of the end is excruciating - all at once.
and so the resonance of the last line, the heavy finality of the last word, the thrilled shiver as one closes the book - always, bittersweet for both the delight and mournful inevitability of conclusion.
books that have done this to me lately: a confederacy of dunces, mirror of ink, the prodigal, the seagull, uncle vanya, the waste land, blink.
