If nothing has clued you in yet, I'm a book fiend. I read about fifty books each year. I've challenged myself to read this:
Yep, all these books (well, except for the dictionary and thesaurus on top - that would be silly ;-). For the element of surprise, I've asked my husband to select (assign?) the books to me. (I don't think there'll be any science to it, probably something like the first one he grabs.)
None of these are brand new. In fact, none of them were even purchased new. ALL of them were gotten "frugally," at GoodWill (the GoodWill on the South Portland/Scarborough line has a CRAZY good book section) or at used book stores or library sales. My financial investment is minimal, my emotional investment is significant.
So don't expect any hot-off-the-presses reviews, but I'll post about each one as I finish. It'll keep me on task. And it's good for me to write about literature. I used to do it well; maybe I can still muster up mediocre.
Book #1: Andre Dubus III's House of Sand and Fog. I've had this copy for some time, and I've NOT watched the film (because I also have a personal rule that I need to read the book FIRST). But when the film was in theatres, my parents saw it, and Dad remarked, "What a sad, sad movie." Very uncharacteristic for him to be emotional about a film.
At the end of House of Sand and Fog I'll let you know if I'm drenched in tears. It could happen.