My laziness has gotten the best of me

...but at least I'm still reading. And hey hey, news, my name is acknowledged in a published book (The Essential New Art Examiner) as recently as last December!

Two more books to cross off the list since I've been AFK...numbers 90, Veronika Decides to Die by Paulo Coelho and 116, The Reader by Bernhard Schlink are done and done.

I'm feeling a bit dreary as of late and am finding solace in having page-bound friends who feel the same. Anyway, call me emo, I always prefer to read of sadness than anything too bright.

The two books were similar, I think, though I would have to favor The Reader a little more heavily. I had seen the film before, and loved it (it only strengthened my lesbian love for Kate Winslet), and was hoping the same for the book which gave birth to it. I wasn't disappointed...and in that, I have to applaud the movie for capturing the poignant echo that resounds in one after closing the book, or shutting off the screen. I am oddly drawn to the Holocaust, and this book expresses a quiet, simplistic beauty in a haunting way without being at all vulgar. The characters too, because mysterious, are stronger and more realistic than most. Life is not black and white, and this is a masterful display of those complexities. I simply love this story.

In comparison, I think that Veronika was an elegant concept, and was executed fairly well, though not as pitch-perfectly as the former. There were definitely some moments that I felt grew tiresome, but overall I do think that I could relate to the characters and appreciated the humanity which pulled all pieces together. Love is a tricky subject to tackle, and though I think that Coelho did stumble into a few potholes of overly dreamy/"gorgeous" imagery and tones, I wasn't turned off. It felt more that I was being carried through this story along with Veronika, rather than being completely engaged in it - which isn't bad in itself, it's just another way of experience.
I do agree with Veronika pre-suicide attempt though, and feel similar. I am in my prime, and perhaps it can technically only get worse from here. Aging is frightening...but who knows what the future brings? It's at least worth waiting and finding out (what else is there to do, anyway?).

I bought two more books this past weekend ripe and ready to be read: #641. Miss Lonelyhearts by Nathanael West and #629. The House in Paris by Elizabeth Bowen.