Ready To Set Sail Again

We're jumping for joy here in Cleveland: the forecast calls for temps in the mid-30s and no snow in the days to come. Not much, I admit, but after the last two weeks, we'll gladly take it. It's not enough, though, to start booking tee times, pulling shorts out of the drawer, and slathering on the sun screen. No, it's a great time to hibernate with a good book, which is what I'm going to do as soon as I finish this. I'm starting a new one tonight, a 700+ page epic I've had my eye on for years, and have been itching to get to in a big way for the last couple of weeks. The last two books I've read, Swann's Way and Madame Bovary, were terrific, but as nice as 19th century France was, I'm looking to get out of that love-mad world. I can't reveal what book I'm starting tonight in case my reading of it fails and I have to face the McGwire-like infamy of having to admit it here--you'll have to wait a few weeks at least for my report, given its length and the author's notorious penchant for writing "difficult" books. Needless to say, this time of the year in these parts is the ideal time to dive into such a lengthy and demanding book--it makes not shoveling the snow that much more enjoyable.

I love this precise time--the minutes before opening a new--to me--book. The mind somersaults with delicious questions: will I be enraptured within the first few pages?; will I need to work at it, slowly?; who are the characters I'll become enamored with and can't wait for them to re-appear in the book?; will this be one of those books that will obsess me, sending me to look up obscure facts, words, places, and people, distracting me from electronic devices, playoff football games, and personal grooming, making me eschew nights of full sleep, propelling me to tell everyone I meet about it? or will it be a chore, one of those reads I feel obligated to finish without really enjoying it all that much? will it be one of those unfortunate few books I like but from some reason after getting half-way through I never pick up again, its bookmarked presence haunting me from the table next to my bed until months from now, buried under other books and magazines, I finally capitulate, dig it out to make room for others, sadly pluck the bookmark out and stuff it on a shelf with a half-promise to give it another go in due time? will it open my eyes, rack my brain, upend my sensibilities and prejudices? will it become a totem, or just another notch? Who knows, but I can't wait to find out the answers to these and hundreds of other as-of-yet unformulated questions. So sayonara, and keep it down, please, I'm trying to read here.

Bo Carter-Ants In My Pants