On Reading Multiply

That is, reading multiple books simultaneously. I know a lot of people who can keep five books going at once. I can't. I never could. I can read a cookbook and a novel, or a magazine and a book, but anything more and I lose the writer's voice, the narrative thread.

I mention this as I am now in the midst of the new Joy of Cooking and the Didion omnibus, not to mention two issues of the New Yorker (Our mail is not what it could be). Were I not a valiant member of the blogosphere, I woudn't mind. But weeks of yakking about one or the other will become boring. This means I need to factor some shorter books into the mix.

Fortunately both big books are comprised of pieces--recipes or essays--and can be read in discrete chunks. But the idea of having so much going simultaneously is distasteful. Reading is the last place I care to multitask, and I comfort myself with the idea of Thanksgiving. In reality this is ridiculous; even Evelyn Wood couldn't roar through two thousand pages over a long weekend.

Such are the perils of bibliophilia.

Books, Reading