But it'll make me look smart sitting on my bookshelf, right?
Wow, they're making a movie out of Bridge to Terabithia?? I can't find the link, but maybe you remember (from your deep, lasting knowledge of my old blog posts) that I called that one of my most influential books for some meme I was passed? I still couldn't tell you why, it's just one of those stories from childhood that stayed with me. Though, I don't really remember it being as "magical" as the commercials make it look, but it's still going on my netflix right now.
In other book news, I may have to give in and just stop reading my current book. The name itself might tell you why: A Biography of Kafka. You know what? Kafka was fucking depressing. You might be thinking, "But Heather, why would you buy such a thing?" When I left for India I brought two books with me; one that I finished on the plane over there, and the other was a huge volume, The People's History of the Supreme Court by Peter Irons. This was truly a fantastic book, and I'm glad I lugged it around with me all month. I wrote a whole journal entry about how it gave me a little bit of a career epiphany, but I'll bore you with that later...or not. Anyway, I finished it in the Bangalore airport waiting for my plane home (you know, the one that was 6 hours delayed). I bet I don't have to describe to you the total randomness that is an Indian airport bookstore. It's not exactly Barnes & Noble, my friends, and A Biography of Kafka was looking pretty good.
I should say, I really love biographies (and non-fiction in general, if People's History didn't give that away), and it's not fair for me to blame it on Kafka. Kafka wrote a lot of things, but not this insufferable biography. It's possibly the most poorly written book I've picked up in awhile. It reads like a play-by-play of every day of his life. It's a little like this blog. Like, "Then Kafka went to the bank to make a savings account, where Jane, Bob, Lester and Steve still worked." Except Jane, Bob, Lester and Steve are totally inconsequential people who will not appear again in Kafka's life, or the book. SO WHO CARES. And I was being nice to you. In the book they're all difficult Eastern European names that read like a mouthful of consonants.
I also picked up The Alchemist at the airport, so let's hope that's a bit less agonizing. I'm off to some art galleries.