I’m going through that thing where I realize that I have all these loaner books on the bedside table and for some reason reading the loaner books is way more difficult than reading the books I have gone out and purchased. I’m not good at being that person who accepts a loaner book from a friend who tells me it is great, or when someone tells me I have to read a book and forces it on me. I just want to be all like, don’t tell me what I’ll like, if I want a book I will ask, dammit. But honestly, the books I have here are mostly things I’ve wanted to read and my friends have very good taste and I shouldn’t be an ass about it, but I am and that is just a quirk that I have to deal with. It’s like clothes. I have my own taste and don’t try to change me with your suggestions or free jeans, man!
Surprise, surprise, I finally settle in to read Ali Smith for the first time and she blows me away with amazingness. Why did I resist her particular brand of storytelling? Probably because of my assiness, that’s why. Moderate strangeness mixed with believable feelings and comic sensibilities and also she can write in the second person without me wanting to lose my shit. The Whole Story and Other Storiesand I had a lovely morning together and I could not be happier that I experienced her view of the world, her stories about people who fall in love with trees, and mixed up sisters. She is doing something special. Her style is so refreshing that I would even read some half stories. Get it? I know. Terrible.