Like an addict I break down sometimes and must have more books. Despite whether I still have books yet left to read, I am lured by the reviews, by the word of mouth, by an article, by the writer themselves, or the simple fact that I already love the writer’s works. My back and forth life of books demonstrates this state of tension between the desire to write and the desire to read; the desire to spend every moment possible with family and the desire to fold inside; the desire to accumulate breathtaking knowledge, the desire to share it, and the desire to be blown away by someone’s simple ability to put a sentence together. Over and over.
You can see it on Goodreads. I go through a spurt where I list multitudes of books. Then my reviews are silent for months, or even a year. Just as suddenly, I will review 20 books on the same day, committing the cardinal sin of an author by not leaving words, just stars, because to write a review, for me, is the same meticulously governed authorial task as is a chapter in a book, or a poem, or an article.
So here is my summer reading list. Most likely, summer will turn into fall and winter. And don’t be fooled. There are always other books I’ve reached out and gotten that must also be read. There are always other books.
My Struggle, Book 1, Karl Knausgaard
Praying Drunk, Kyle Minor
The City and the City, China Mieville
The Wind Up Bird Chronicle, Haruki Murakami
Colorless, Haruki Murakami
Our Souls at Night, Kent Haruf
Here’s Your Hat What’s Your Hurry, Elizabeth McCracken
Neil Gaiman, Trigger Warning
Steve Almond, God Bless America
Gravity, Michael Davis