I wrote my brother a letter last week in which I confessed to a codified literature kick. As I wrote to Devon, I don't read for a storyline, but rather for images, language, and ideas that activate my imagination.
- The Unbearable Lightness of Being by Milan Kundera -- putting off the final ten pages because I just don't want it to end.
- Love in the Time of Cholera by Gabriel García Márquez -- a beach read that couldn't be put down, but the afternoon wasn't long enough for a cover-to-cover job.
- Nine Stories by J.D. Salinger -- perfect transit reading, as the book is small enough to fit into a Chanel and each story is just as long as a ride from 125th Street to 42nd Street.