September, again

It's September, and that means it's time for the annual science-fiction moratorium. Originally I thought this idea up because my reading diet was almost exclusively sci-fi; however, this year, of the approximately 60 books I've read so far, only 10 of them have been. So as I branch out my literary interests, a moratorium seems to become increasingly irrelevant; but it's a habit I keep up, nonetheless.

Typically, I use September to broaden my literary horizons a bit: try something I've never read before or wouldn't pick up on impulse. This year, I've decided to keep it simple: get through William L. Shirer's The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich. It's a classic work of World War II history that weighs approximately one anvil. I've owned my paperback copy for somewhat over 20 years and never read more than the first few chapters.

I just started Patrick O'Brian's The Surgeon's Mate, one of the volumes in his Aubrey-Maturin series of naval historical novels. I'll finish that before digging into Shirer. In the unlikely event that I finish Rise and Fall prematurely, I've still got about half of Ishiguro's The Unconsoled to finish off, and a whole bunch of classic Westerns I have yet to sample.

This won't affect my readthrough of Perelandra. The spirit of the rule is to open my mind a bit more, not to be abstemious, and not to cut short any projects I happen to have already in progress. I'm working on the installment for chapter 5 now, late as ever, and it should be posted shortly.

Let September begin!

Science Fiction-Free September '24 wrap-up

Last week I wrapped up the 2024 installment of my annual Science Fiction-Free September. I'm happy to proclaim this year's moratorium on SF novels (and, more broadly, commercial fiction) a success.

I planned for five novels, plus two extras if time remained. I completed six, plus a handful of plays by Aphra Behn and a few Japanese light novels (in English). So overall, I read 14 individual titles this September, with a number of them being short and light reading. But the main selections were anything but light! I noted last year that I'd chosen some heavy-hitting fiction, and the same is true this year.

Science Fiction-Free September s24e21

Huzzah! We made it to another September. What better way to celebrate than abstaining from reading science fiction for a whole month?

Science Fiction-Free Septembers (SFFS) are my annual moratorium on science-fiction books (and, by extension, my regular reading habits) in favour of novels that I am less likely to read otherwise. Septembers tend toward more classic or literary fiction as a result. Sometimes, the selections are themed, but generally they're just books that I've felt I wanted to read for some time, and SFFSes are a good opportunity.

Last year I chose the books that had lingered longest on The List (what real book bloggers call their TBR, for To Be Read), and enjoyed myself. So I think I'm going to repeat that theme, more or less.

Maybe then I'll fade away and not have to face the facts

A review of An Artist of the Floating World by Kazuo Ishiguro (London: Faber, 1986). 206 pp. Hardcover.

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If you were to ask me what my favourite novel was, I would quickly answer, The Remains of the Day, Kazuo Ishiguro's third novel. My first reading of that novel was a shade under thirty years ago. Despite my love for Remains, until this year, I had never read any of Ishiguro's other books. I decided to fix that situation last year, and so I began January with A Pale View of Hills, and read An Artist of the Floating World in September.

Masuji Ono is an elderly artist—as well as a father, grandfather, and widower—in Japan, a few years after the end of World War II. He is now retired, as his paintings have gone out of fashion. Ono has two daughters as well as a son who died in the war. His older daughter, Setsuko, is married and has a young son, Ichiro, who is fascinated with Godzilla and Western cultural icons such as Popeye and the Lone Ranger. Noriko, the younger daughter, is unmarried. She and Ono are preparing for her miai, or interview with the prospective groom and his family. An earlier marriage arrangement fell through. Setsuko and Noriko suspect it had to do with Ono's past. Setsuko suggests that he take "precautionary steps"—meaning, make amends for his past errors with his former colleagues, in case Noriko's prospective in-laws use them to investigate his history.

Girls just want to have fun

A review of The House of Mirth by Edith Wharton (New York: Scribner, 1905). Ebook.

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Lily Bart is a beautiful young New York socialite. Although she grew up in wealthy surroundings, her father lost the family fortune, and then both parents died when she was 20, leaving her without money. She lives with her aunt, which at least lets her live surrounded by wealth (even if the house's décor is outdated) and move in the social circles she's accustomed to. Lily receives a small allowance from her aunt, which she spends on clothing, but that doesn't leave her enough to cover the thousands of dollars of gambling debts she has incurred playing bridge.

And so Lily seeks a husband. Her options are limited at her advanced age of 29. Her friend Lawrence Seldon is a lawyer with good social connections, but he's not rich enough. Simon Rosedale, a Jewish businessman and Seldon's landlord, is wealthy and climbing the social ladder, but unrefined in his manners. And Percy Gryce is wealthy enough, but he's a rather boring collector of Americana. Nonetheless, Lily sets her sights on Percy.

Hush, little baby, don't say a word

A review of To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee (Philadelphia: J. B. Lippincott & Co., 1960). Ebook.

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Jean Louise "Scout" Finch is a six-year-old girl living in Maycomb, Alabama during the Great Depression. She lives with her older brother, Jem; her father Atticus, the local lawyer and a widower; and their black cook Calpurnia, who helps raise Jem and Scout. They befriend another child named Dill who visits his aunt in the summer. Together, they develop a fascination with their reclusive neighbour, Arthur "Boo" Radley, whom they have never seen and whom the locals don't talk about. But someone is leaving them little gifts in a tree by his house, so it seems that Boo Radley is aware of them.

The town judge appoints Atticus to defend Tom Robinson, a black man accused of raping a young white woman, knowing Atticus is a man of integrity and will do his best for Tom. Atticus agrees, even though the white townsfolk disapprove. Scout stands up for her father and gets into fights at school, but Atticus tells her not to. Later, when he faces down a mob intending to lynch Tom, Scout (who is there without permission) recognizes the father of one of her schoolmates—whom Atticus has been helping, though he can't afford to pay for his services—and she manages to dissuade the mob.

When Tom Robinson's trial begins, Atticus wants Scout and Jem to stay away, but they sneak in, and they are invited to sit with Calpurnia's pastor in the segregated balcony to watch the courtroom drama unfold.

It feels odd writing a book review of a book that, probably, nearly all of my Faithful Readers have already read. Even in Canada, To Kill a Mockingbird is assigned in schools. I was recently talking to a friend about the books I'd been reading, and she was surprised I'd never read it before. (When I was in high school, we did Huckleberry Finn in grade 10, but TKAM wasn't on the curriculum in any English class that I was aware of.) So here are my first impressions, more than a proper review or analysis. My thoughts are probably neither especially deep nor especially good.

Science Fiction-Free September 2023 wrap-up

This past September was my 20th Science Fiction-Free September, in which I declare a month-long moratorium on reading science-fiction books (whether I need to or not).

Before the month began, I decided on six novels that I wanted to read. Three of them had been on my to-read list for a very long time, and it was high time I actually read them. Two were consistent with my current reading projects. And one was a book that I had on reserve at the library, which I expected to become available early in the month.

I planned for six novels, and I completed all six. This was a first. Apparently the winning strategy is to choose shorter novels than I'm accustomed to. (But not too short.)

About two-thirds of the way through September, and near the start of the fifth (and longest) book, I caught a cold. Thanks to the COVID pandemic, it's been at least two years since I've been sick at all. Not only had I practically forgotten what it felt like, but it also completely drained my energy for three days—to the point that I didn't feel even like reading. I got my mojo back, though, and got the last book in just under the wire on Saturday afternoon.

My favourite novel of the six was the first: To Kill a Mockingbird, by Harper Lee. I'd never read it before (nor had I read any of them), and I'm glad I did. I can see why it frequently tops lists of the greatest novels of all time. Runner-up: Joyland, by Stephen King. I've already reviewed it, but to sum up, it's an enjoyable and light piece of crime fiction.

My least favourite was Revolutionary Road, by Richard Yates. It might be the most pessimistic novel I've ever read (though it may have some competition in John O'Hara's Appointment in Samarra). Runner-up: The House of Mirth by Edith Wharton. Neither is a bad novel by any stretch, and I might have thought more highly of each of them individually. I guess I'm not cut out for two highly tragic novels practically back to back.

Coming in in the middle were An Artist of the Floating World, by Kazuo Ishiguro, and Riders of the Purple Sage, by Zane Grey. Both of them are good novels, and An Artist of the Floating World in particular is beautifully written.

I said at the beginning of September that I would write at least 250 words on each of these books. So yes, I still owe a post on each of TKAM, The House of Mirth, and An Artist of the Floating World.

My annual goal is to read 50 books of any genre. An Artist of the Floating World was number 47. Between the end of September and writing this, I've also completed one more novel (Emily of New Moon, by L. M. Montgomery) and I'm halfway through number 49: Nemesis Games, the fifth book in the Expanse series by James S. A. Corey.

In the not-entirely-unlikely event that I ran out of books before running out of September, I had three additonal books lined up:

• The Cellist of Sarajevo, Steven Galloway
• A Confederacy of Dunces, John Kennedy Toole
• Rabbit, Run, John Updike

They also all have a long history on The List, so I'm eager to clear them off. Not too soon, though; I'm going to spend a little while reading some more blatantly commercial stuff.

Whatever it is, that girl put a spell on me

A review of Riders of the Purple Sage by Zane Grey (New York: Harper & Brother, 1912). Ebook.

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Jane Withersteen is a wealthy, young Mormon woman in Utah. The local Mormon churchmen harass her because she befriends Gentiles (non-Mormons), and because she refuses to marry an elder named Tull, who wants to make Jane his third wife so he can acquire the considerable property and cattle she inherited from her father.

Tull and his men grab one of Jane's cowboys, Bern Venters, a Gentile, intent on whipping him out of their territory. But a rider dressed in black arrives on the scene, frightening the Mormons into leaving. This new man is Lassiter, an infamous gunfighter and hater of Mormons. He is searching for the grave of his sister, who had been taken from her home and brought to Utah to become a Mormon wife. Jane resolves to use her kindness to influence Lassiter to give up his life of violence.

When cattle rustlers steal one of Jane's herds, Bern rides out in pursuit. He gets into a gunfight with two of the thieves, killing one and wounding the other. He is shocked to discover that the latter is a feared rustler known as the "Masked Rider"—and a young, unarmed woman named Bess. In remorse, they hide in a cave in a secluded valley while he nurses her back to health. After some time, they fall in love.

Come on and take a low ride with me, girl, on the tunnel of love

A lightning review of Joyland by Stephen King (New York: Hard Case Crime, 2012). Ebook.

Joyland is written like a memoir: the adult Devin Jones reminisces about the very weird summer he spent at an amusement park. When his relationship with his girlfriend starts to crumble, he finds work at a small North Carolina theme park as a carnie. He meets new friends, Tom and Erin, and learns that he has a talent for "wearing the fur": entertaining children as Joyland's canine mascot, Howie.

The park's resident fortune-teller, Rozzie ("Madame Fortuna") tells Devin he will meet a girl with a red hat and a boy with a dog. Later that summer, as Howie, he saves a girl in a red hat from choking, which makes him a local celebrity. (Does Rozzie have the genuine gift of precognition?)

Oh, we're halfway there

I've reached the halfway point in this year's Science Fiction-Free September.

As of now, I've read three of the six books on the list and two-thirds of the fourth. By some rather crude reckoning, with half the month gone, I'm roughly 63% of the way through all my planned reading. After blazing through the first three books in a week, I've slowed down somewhat, but I'm still on track to finish the whole list—which will actually be a first in 20 years.

The best book, so far, was To Kill a Mockingbird. I found it quite engaging and heartwarming, and I guess I'm somewhat disappointed I never got around to it sooner. Joyland wasn't half bad, either.

My least favourite book has been Revolutionary Road, which I have already reviewed. It's not a bad book, just one filled with unpleasant people and things.

As I said, I'm about two-thirds of the way through Riders of the Purple Sage. It's all right; I just don't find myself connecting with the story quite as much as with the previous books this month.

Still on deck are The House of Mirth and An Artist of the Floating World. I have read Edith Wharton previously—I studied The End of Innocence in my American literature course back in 1996, and I think it was probably my favourite of the works on the syllabus. And I would still cite The Remains of the Day as my favourite novel, so I regret not reading any of Kazuo Ishiguro's other novels until this year (I started off January with A Pale View of Hills). So I have high hopes for both books.

And, if I do run out of books before running out of month, I've got an extra or two planned. We'll see.

I owe you at least 500 more words by way of review. I think I can pull off a lightning review of Joyland this weekend, probably once I've got Riders of the Purple Sage squared away. I'm still mulling over TKAM, though.

I hope your September is also going well, and you've got something worthy on your nightstand.

Just like witches at black masses

Lightning review of War in Heaven by Charles Williams (London: Gollancz, 1930). Ebook.

An unidentified body is discovered in an office at a publishing firm. The occupant of the office is Lionel Rackstraw, the editor of a manuscript whose author, an arrogant antiquarian, has instructed him to remove a certain paragraph, which identifies a chalice in the possession of a small village church as none other than the Holy Grail. Gregory Persimmons, the owner of the publishing firm, wants to steal the Grail from the church for himself, to use in black-magic rituals, which also involve kidnapping Rackstraw's young son, Adrian. The archdeacon of the church wants to prevent the relic from falling into the wrong hands.

The suburbs have no charms to soothe the restless dreams of youth

Review of Revolutionary Road by Richard Yates (Boston: Little, Brown, 1961). 337 pp. Hardcover.

Frank and April Wheeler are a young couple with two kids. When they met, Frank was studying in the humanities and April was an aspiring actress. They lived a carefree lifestyle in Greenwich Village—until April became pregnant "seven years too soon." She wants to abort the child, but Frank talks her out of it. To support his new family he takes a job in sales at a large business-machine corporation, where his father had worked before him, and they move out of New York into Revolutionary Hill Estates, a Connecticut suburb. They see themselves as something greater than their suburbanite neighbours.

Some years later, they have two children and Frank is still working at the same job. April's part in a disastrous amateur theatre production of The Petrified Forest leads to a roadside argument that ends with Frank sleeping alone, while April sleeps on the sofa.

Frank and April are starting to think they aren't actually cut out for greatness and worry that they are beginning to settle for the suburban lifestyle they had disdained. Then April proposes moving the family to Paris, where she would be able to find work and support the family while Frank was freed to "find himself." But before they can leave Revolutionary Road for France, Frank is offered a promotion and April discovers she is again pregnant.

Science Fiction-Free September, Episode XX

In September 2004, after realizing I had read nothing but a steady diet of science fiction for about the previous two months, I instituted a month-long moratorium on the genre. Instead, I used that September to stretch my reading habits a bit, opting instead for an eclectic reading list: The Gang Who Couldn't Shoot Straight by Jimmy Breslin, Life of Pi by Yann Martel, Here I Stand by Roland Bainton, and Keep in Step with the Spirit by J. I. Packer. I didn't get through my entire list, and some of the selections were a bit dodgy, but overall the experience was a good one. I wouldn't have read Life of Pi otherwise, for example.

Since then, even though my reading is now a lot more diverse—and science fiction is arguably no longer even the majority genre—I've kept up the tradition of Science Fiction-Free Septembers. This is the twentieth SFFS.

I know we'll meet again some sunny day

A lightning review of The Storm of War by Andrew Roberts (New York: HarperCollins, 2011).

I first heard of Andrew Roberts and The Storm of War back around 2011, when the book was new and theologian Albert Mohler interviewed him for his podcast, Thinking in Public, in which he called The Storm of War "the finest one-volume history of World War II I've ever read." I borrowed the public library's copy, which for some reason was hard to find in the stacks; it took a few weeks for the library to locate it and put it on hold for me. Unfortunately, at the time I was only able to read the first few chapters, but it was enough to whet my appetite, and I finally committed to reading it cover-to-cover for this year's Science Fiction-Free September.

Unfortunately, in the intervening eight years, the library had (again?) lost or discarded its copy. I know Roberts is a reputed and popular historian, but I wouldn't have thought he was steal-this-book popular. Fortunately, I was able to obtain another before September was over. Little did I know it would take me the rest of September, all of October, and the first week of November to finish it—and at a shade over 700 pages, it's long, but not that long. Chalk it up to relatively little contiguous free time for committed reading. (I do miss those hour-long rides to work on the bus.)

The Storm of War is, I would say, semi-chronological in its arrangement: each chapter covers a major campaign or facet of the war: the Battle of Britain, the Holocaust, the battle in the Pacific, and so forth, in rough chronological order. Not being an avid reader of history books, I don't know if this is the norm or just Roberts' particular method of presentation. To an extent, it made the book feel a little bit non-linear. But with a topic as extensive as WWII, could it have been done any other way?

The central character of the book is, not surprisingly, Adolf Hitler. Roberts portrays his handling of the war as that of an inept dilettante. Amongst "Corporal Hitler's" major blunders were halting the advance on Dunkirk (thus allowing the British Expeditionary Force to evacuate), launching Operation Barbarossa against Russia (and underestimating the ferocity with which the Russians would defend the Motherland), declaring war against the United States following Pearl Harbor, and remaining committed to a "stand or die" policy that prevented his generals from making strategic retreats. Of course, had Hitler not been a doctrinaire National Socialist, he may not have started World War II at all—but, then again, maybe he would have won it. It was his commitment to Nazi ideology that was responsible for many of his blunders.

All in all, though, an engaging read, even if it did take up more of my time than I anticipated. I'd read Roberts again: his recent biography of Churchill, Churchill: Walking with Destiny, looks interesting.

It's October . . . Please resume normal reading

I always love Science Fiction Free September. Not only do I get to read some great books I wouldn't otherwise consider, but it's a great time to see exactly how much of a failure I am at this.

For example, when I started this month, I intended to read through Andrew Roberts' history of World War II, The Storm of War. Granted, it's a longer book at 700+ pages. But I've read longer, in less time. Granted, the public library has lost or removed its copy. But I found another.

So, how far did I actually get?

About 30 pages.

Heck, the Battle of Britain hasn't even started yet.

Given that I started the book about two weeks into September, that works out to an average of two pages a day. Worst SFFS showing ever.

Still, it's a good read, and I'm looking forward to finishing it. I might even get a good run at it by the end of the weekend.

Science Fiction-Free September XV1

Been a while. When I said I would be updating this blog more frequently, I didn't mean every nine months as opposed to every two years. Nonetheless, there's the letter of the law and there's the spirit . . .

It's September, albeit a quarter of the way through. That means it's again time for Science Fiction-Free September, in which I place a temporary moratorium on reading science-fiction novels, my preferred genre, and generally stretch my boundaries a little bit by reading something I wouldn't normally pick up. Over the past few years, though I haven't blogged about it, I've still held to it, if only by the technicality of happening to be reading something else at the time. Again, there's the letter of the law.

The particular challenge this year is that as part of my planned reading, I'm going through all the Hugo and Nebula Award-winning novels chronologically, starting in 1953 with Alfred Bester's The Demolished Man and most recently wrapping up with 1969's Hugo winner, Stand on Zanzibar by John Brunner. It so happens that the next book on my to-read list is Rite of Passage by Alexei Panshin, the 1969 Nebula winner. Alas for Mr. Panshin, it is not to be.

Let me say in passing, and by way of closing off discussion of SF for the remainder of September: Three of the last five SF novels I've read were boring. The late 60s were, apparently. not good years for science fiction. Well, at least after Panshin comes selections by le Guin, Niven, Farmer, Clarke, and Asimov, so for a time I'll be in familiar territory.)

This month, after wrapping up my current book—The Haunting of Hill House by Shirley Jackson, which is nearly finished and quite short—I plan on tackling something on my backlog: The Storm of War, a 2011 history of World War II by Andrew Roberts. This is a book that's been on my planned list for years. (In fact, if, heaven forbid, you've been paying attention to the sidebar on this oh-so-active blog, you'd have seen it listed as "In Progress," practically for ever, until I decided a book I had returned to the library and never borrowed again for two or three years was not, in any meaningful sense, in progress.) Assuming 700+ pages aren't enough to keep me occupied till October, I'll probably read something by an author I've never read before, to be determined later. (Update: I've settled on Allan Bloom's venerable translation of Plato's Republic.)

And at least I'm posting something rather than nothing. That's also a good start to the month.

Footnotes

¹Well, let's call it that, since I've been doing this since 2004 anyway.

September means back down to earth

Welcome to September, everyone!

If you've kept up reading this blog for more than a few years, you know what September means: it's time for my 12th annual Science Fiction Free September. Back in September 2004, I decided that I spent too much of my reading time with science fiction, so I declared a month-long moratorium on the genre, and instead used the time for something I might not read otherwise: classic literature, nonfiction, maybe just even a bunch of books I had started but never got around to finishing. (This year to date I've read three SF novels—about half what I've read in nonfiction. As the years go by the SFFS has either outlived or fulfilled its purpose, but I keep it up anyway, just for fun!)

This year, my big September reading project will be themed around the 70th anniversary of the end of World War II. My primary objective is to complete a very long book that I have had for a number of years, but never gotten farther in than, perhaps, one-tenth. This book is the blockbuster history of Nazi Germany, The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich, by CBS war correspondent William L. Shirer. This is a popular history rather than an academic one. Shirer was present in Berlin from the Nazis' coming to power to the first year of WWII, when he left after he heard that the Gestapo was trumping up espionage charges against him.

I actually started two days ago, since my last book finished up conveniently on Saturday night (Dolores Claiborne, the latest in my read-all-the-way-through-Stephen-King project). By page count, I am now 2% of the way in, and if I can figure out how to HTML-ize a progress bar, I'll add it to the sidebar.

At ths time I have no secondary objectives, but there's no shortage of unread books in my collection, so I'm sure I'll work something out.

Sleep with one eye open, gripping your pillow tight

A lightning review of Doctor Sleep by Stephen King (New York: Gallery–Simon & Shuster, 2013). Trade paperback, 531 pp.

In Stephen King's Doctor Sleep, child protagonist Danny Torrence is now in his 40s and goes by "Dan." Traumatized by the events of The Shining and self-medicating to suppress his psychic abilities, Dan is now an alcoholic. When he drifts into a New Hampshire town, he quits drinking, joins AA, and lands a job in a hospice. He becomes known as "Doctor Sleep" because his psychic "shine" (re-emerged since he gave up alcohol) enables him to comfort and ease the passage of terminal patients.

Meanwhile, a young girl named Abra Stone, born shortly before 9/11, has manifested a shine of her own that is possibly even more powerful than Dan's. As she grows up, the two of them share a psychic bond. Abra unintentionally has a vision of the ritual murder of a boy in Iowa by the "True Knot," a band of vampire-like roamers who feed of the psychic "steam" given off by those who die in pain. This brings her to the attention of the True, who realize they could feed off her for a very long time.

I've been reading Stephen King's works in order, but I decided to let Doctor Sleep jump the queue, as I mentioned earlier this month. I'm glad I did. (I should make a general policy of reading King's new novels while playing catch-up with the older ones.) King has called this novel a "return to balls-to-the-wall, keep-the-lights-on horror," but I'm not sure if I found it to be that, exactly. The Shining was pretty much a straight-up ghost story-cum-psychological thriller. King's work since about the mid-1990s has been as much fantasy as horror, and Doctor Sleep seems to fit that mould pretty well.

Actually, the horror-fantasy and the very weird antagonists make this novel feel like it was conceived by Clive Barker before it was written by Stephen King. But it was fun to read nonetheless. Apart from the ongoing Dark Tower series, sequels by King are few and far between, so it was interesting to read what had happened to one of his earliest, most engaging characters.

By the way, this is the first time that a Stephen King cover has made me jump. I only noticed today what was in the background behind the text.

Sure, it's less than a week till the end of the month, but Science Fiction-Free September moves apace. On deck: In Cold Blood.

The anniversary and the moratorium

Welcome to September 4. This is the official 11th anniversary of this blog—though it was actually created in July of 2003, the first post went up in September. This has traditionally also been the date on which I rolled out a new look for the Crusty Curmudgeon, though this is something I've done very little of in recent years. Ever since they rolled out Blogger 2.0 some years ago, re-skinning a Blogger blog has meant more than just writing up a new HTML template and style sheet. I already know what I want the next iteration of the CC to look like, and plan on learning the new language. Sometime.

September 4 is one of two times of the year that I tend to reflect on the state of the blog, the other being New Year's Day. Usually I don't have much to say in September, either than that my writing hasn't been as prolific as I hoped, but I expect to get better, and despite my decreased output, I'm not going anywhere just yet. So, by way of my twice-yearly status updates: Unfortunately, my blogging hasn't been as prolific as I would like (though it has increased recently), I expect to post more in coming weeks, and despite my decreased output, the Crusty Curmudgeon is not dead yet. So there.

Science Fiction-Free September X (yes, X)

This September is another milestone: my tenth annual month-long moratorium on reading science fiction. Way back in 2004, I decided that I read way too much SF and needed to read more, well, not-SF—lest I contract some sort of literary scurvy or something. So I set aside September of every year to expand my reading horizons a bit, usually choosing books of a more literary character, often with some sort of theme for the month.

It seems a little strange to declare a moratorium this year on a genre that I actually haven't read much. My main reading "project" since last year has been to read through the books of Stephen King, so I've been feeding my head with horror or fantasy, at least.

My current book is East of Eden by John Steinbeck, so book one for September will be to finish it—no small feat since I've been bogged down in it for about two months now and am only about a quarter through. I haven't read any Steinbeck since having to read Cannery Row back in high school. He isn't a hard read, just slow going.

Book number two is another high-school assignment: Joseph Conrad's Heart of Darkness. I recently watched Apocalypse Now, and felt inspired to read its source novel again and see if I like it any better at 42 instead of 19.

Book number three has yet to be determined, but it will be a novel by Kazuo Ishiguro. I have often cited The Remains of the Day as my favourite novel. It's high time I read something else by the same author.

Finally, if time permits, I'm going to take another huge bite out of Les Miserables, which I have been working on since about 2010.

My success with these September reading programs has been hit and miss. Here's to success: I want to read the Lord of the Rings trilogy before the year is out, so I need as much time as I can get for such a long novel.