And I wouldn't say no to something sweet
Yesterday I started reading Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close (which I keep wanting to call Incredibly Loud and Incredibly Close...except once I hit the second Incredibly I know something went wrong). A couple of points:
1. I like the cover. Covers are important, even though blah blah we're not supposed to judge. Lest we be judged?
2. I don't know how to pronounce his name and it bugs me.
3. At my library, employees receive all their holds in their inboxes. Unlike ordinary mortals, we don't have to check our accounts or the main hold shelf to know we have something in. It simply waits for us to show up for work, like a gift in our box. I love this. Except if I order something and it has an obnoxious cover that I'm ashamed to have coworkers see in my box. The upside is when a coworker recognizes a title and puts a sticky note on the book, like this: "Jess- I LOVED this book. Tell me when you're done. -J" She even dated the note. What a perfect way to start a book!
4. I keep loving sentences or phrases and want to write them down, except the book just pulls me along and suddenly I find myself pages later with no idea where the sentence is anymore.
5. I just found one: when Oskar finds the vase, and stands on his Collected Shakespeare to reach it, but falls, and his mother doesn't hear him because she's busy laughing with a friend and "cracking up too much," Oskar says he, "zipped myself all the way into the sleeping bag of myself, not because I was hurt, and not because I had broken something, but because they were cracking up" (page 37, for those who care). What an idea. One of those metaphors that you instantly recognize even though you would never come up with the same description yourself.
6. Which I think it was makes me fall in love with books. When I recognize some part of myself, or my experience, or the world I live in. Not the big, general world, the blue ball in space, but the world that I actually live in. The tiny details. Seeing them in print gives them collective weight.
7. And yes, the heavyhandedness grates on my nerves a little. It's so much, this book.
I'm not writing enough. I don't like myself when I don't write enough.
I'm trying to figure out what twenty-four feels like. So far it tastes like oatmeal and coffee and looks like a clean room.
1. I like the cover. Covers are important, even though blah blah we're not supposed to judge. Lest we be judged?
2. I don't know how to pronounce his name and it bugs me.
3. At my library, employees receive all their holds in their inboxes. Unlike ordinary mortals, we don't have to check our accounts or the main hold shelf to know we have something in. It simply waits for us to show up for work, like a gift in our box. I love this. Except if I order something and it has an obnoxious cover that I'm ashamed to have coworkers see in my box. The upside is when a coworker recognizes a title and puts a sticky note on the book, like this: "Jess- I LOVED this book. Tell me when you're done. -J" She even dated the note. What a perfect way to start a book!
4. I keep loving sentences or phrases and want to write them down, except the book just pulls me along and suddenly I find myself pages later with no idea where the sentence is anymore.
5. I just found one: when Oskar finds the vase, and stands on his Collected Shakespeare to reach it, but falls, and his mother doesn't hear him because she's busy laughing with a friend and "cracking up too much," Oskar says he, "zipped myself all the way into the sleeping bag of myself, not because I was hurt, and not because I had broken something, but because they were cracking up" (page 37, for those who care). What an idea. One of those metaphors that you instantly recognize even though you would never come up with the same description yourself.
6. Which I think it was makes me fall in love with books. When I recognize some part of myself, or my experience, or the world I live in. Not the big, general world, the blue ball in space, but the world that I actually live in. The tiny details. Seeing them in print gives them collective weight.
7. And yes, the heavyhandedness grates on my nerves a little. It's so much, this book.
I'm not writing enough. I don't like myself when I don't write enough.
I'm trying to figure out what twenty-four feels like. So far it tastes like oatmeal and coffee and looks like a clean room.
posted by Jess at 12:49 PM
1 Comments:
i think the Foer is pronounced Fur. I think.
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