So I was hoping to get "The Candidate" in this weekend, but I haven't yet gotten to it. Don't worry there's still time for me to do so before my work week starts. I've been procrastinating writing a cover letter for my resume to send to Newsday. I hate writing cover letters. I got this really pricey graduate degree in journalism and what they should have taught me — instead of classes on literary journalism and foreign affairs reporting, neither of which I'm likely to use — is how to write a damn cover letter that can get me an interview/job.
I did however finish "The Polysyllabic Spree", which (and Melinda will vouch for this) is completely impossible for me to pronounce. I have no idea why. The book itself is right now on its way to Melinda. Anyway, it was a strange experience for me because Nick Hornby is intimidating with the amount of stuff he can read in a month. Plus he's writing a book while he's doing AND freelancing book reviews for other publications, like The Times of London, AND he's a father of three. How the hell does he have time to do it at all? I'm lucky if I can pick my pants up off the floor during the course of a week and wash the coffee pot before I make a new batch of joe in the morning.
Also intimidating is the fact that of all the books he's read I only read one: "Mystic River." This is somewhat embarrassing because of the set up to his review, which is basically saying it's an excellent book but very plebeian and why oh why doesn't he have any friends common enough to recommend such books to him. Also, he loves Dickens and goes on and on about "Great Expectations," which he read during the course of this series of columns that's in the book. It's the last Dickens he hadn't read. I, on the other hand, have always WANTED to like Dickens. I love the movies they make from Dickens. I loved...LOVED..."Bleak House" that the BBC did with Gillian Anderson. I, however, have never ever read more than a single of page of Dickens. I've tried. Several times. I struggle through the first page and then I say, "Screw this." And go read a People magazine or something.
Finally, it's a little odd to reading about someone reading. Like, instead I should be reading all these books he's reading instead of reading about him reading them?
Despite all this, the book is strangely engrossing. I was fascinated to read his blurbs on books that I know I will never read. (With one exception. In the same two-week span that I bought "The Polysyllabic Spree," I also bought, "Eats, Shoots & Leaves," which he reviews but doesn't seem to care for very much.) I actually couldn't wait to get home and read a couple more of his essays before bed. It helped to have his company on my largely insomnia-ridden week. And if nothing else, you should read this book, simply because you can finish it in a day or two and that will help up the ante in your "Books Read" column — which in my life is always far, far behind "Books Bought."
Addendum: In case you missed it in the comments section of my last review, Deadman had this to say about TPS:
"I'm glad they put out the Polysyllabic Spree editions. I love Nick Hornby on music, but can't bring myself to spend $8 on the Believer for it alone. (P.S. Hornby's last book "Long Way Down" is really fun and a high point for him)."
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Aren't at least one of his kids autistic, too? Yeah, he's superman. The British lit version.
It's nice to have this very funny, entertaining acknowledgment that none of us reads what we want to read or as much as we would like. It's sort've like a support book.
I also especially like the bought/read balance sheet. I perpetually have a bout 30 books in my "next up" pile, but only read about 20 or so books a year. Never getting out of that pile.
If you enjoyed this, there is a second volume out now.
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