Written in 1947, Slaves of Solitude crossed my path accidentally while out prowling the vast interwebs. Someone, somewhere described it as one of the best books they'd never heard of. Sold! Like the last novel I finished. It takes place during the Blitz in 1940's London. It centers around a cast of lonely displaced characters living in a boarding house.
The earth was muffled from the stars; the river and the pretty eighteenth century bridge were muffled from the people; the people were muffled from each other. This was war late in 1943.
My reading hasn't been limited to novels. For the new year I gifted myself with a digital subscription to The New Yorker magazine. Tonight I came home, flopped onto the couch, and buried myself in its digital cushion of pages where I was immediatly swept up into a world of saudi royalty, internet archiving, and french satire. Ahhhhh…just what I needed after 4 days of talking and being talked to – uninterrupted reading time. Both pieces below get high marks for their interestingness factor.
And to continue in my online magazine adventures, last week I read THIS. Which is where I found the quote below that I think is quite beautiful.
The kind of deep reading that a sequence of printed pages promotes is valuable not just for the knowledge we acquire from the author’s words but for the intellectual vibrations those words set off within our own minds. In the quiet spaces opened up by the sustained, undistracted reading of a book, or by any other act of contemplation, for that matter, we make our own associations, draw our own inferences and analogies, foster our own ideas. Deep reading, as Maryanne Wolf argues, is indistinguishable from deep thinking.
Adding to the January pile and my erratic reading habits…
Reading anything strange & delightful? Spill!