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Time in a Book

It’s unfair, really.  I live in a world with so many good books but in a society that gives me no time to read.  Of course I can read on the bus, but is that quality time with my literary children?  Hardly.

A number of websites have recently taken to suggesting books you should’ve read but may never have heard of.  That’s the way the publishing industry works these days—those that are bound to become classics will not be published by the Big Five.  You’ll need to ferret them out from smaller houses.  Then try to find some time.

Civilization, which gave us the writer, is also what is taking her away.  More and more time is demanded by work.  They get away with it because they can.  When’s the last time I really took a lunch break?  Sat on a park bench and read?

I found a list, on GQ of all places, citing forgotten books that should be read.  Despite it being GQ, I don’t doubt it for one second.  Here are authors who, like me, are crying out to be heard.  At least they got published.

Books, perhaps, don’t work as an industry.  They don’t compete well in a world of electronic titillation.  We’d rather watch that video on YouTube over and over again.  And forget about sweeping the floors, let alone reading a book.

Half-way through GQ’s list, I scrolled back to the beginning and started over with a pen and paper.  I’m not sure when I’ll find the time to read all these books, but I feel for the forgotten author.  Or the lost book.

Over the past several weekends—the only time I actually have to send things to publishers—I’ve been caught up with the things weekday life compels me to ignore.  That leaking faucet, those unpaid bills, the car has to go to the garage.  When’s the last time I balanced the hemorrhaging bank book?  How am I going to find time to read?


Squeezing it into the untrammeled minutes hardly seems fair. I will, however, do just that.  To do any less would be to live like a savage in a room of pâté and foie gras.


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