There is, of course, a whole lot more.
What I’ve Read
I’m fairly passionate about the novels of Jane Austen and Anthony Trollope, for example.
Now Jane Austen needs no explanation or apology. No guilty pleasure, this, but I exercise restraint: to keep them fresh I only allow myself to reread any one novel once every three years. This permits me to read two of them each year, enough to make life worth living.
I remember the Sunday afternoon in my sophomore year of high school when I first cracked the spine on our assigned Brit Lit book Pride and Prejudice. The weather was frightful, the house was empty, and I thought I could make a good start on it sitting in my father’s Barcalounger® with the stereo blaring. Moreover, I had a new record checked out of the Eden Free Library: Bruno Walter conducting the Mozart Requiem.
Not one but two masterpieces I discovered that bleak day, with the rain beating on the windows, and teenage me in transports.
About a decade later I discovered Anthony Trollope. He is the creator of some of my very best friends on earth. Or somewhere.
Not to mention my one true love: Phineas Finn.
Come to think of it, I discovered Trollope on a blustery afternoon, too.
There will doubtless be more of this MORE, but right now it’s storming and I’d better go read something.