I'm currently reading three or four books, see.
I simply do not possess the resilience to have just one book open and read it in one go. I guess I am a book glutton. Of course, that means that I am capable of "reading" a book for six months. Maybe because that particular one is my "lunchtime" book, or my current "serious" read, or my "trashy secret guilty pleasure of the moment that can only be consumed in absolute privacy". Meh...
Maybe I just suck at being consistent.
Well, by far my favourite "unwind with a glass of pinot in the evening" of the bunch is Pulse, Julian Barnes' collection of short stories.
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| Lovely cover. And this book is made of paper. And ink. And has pages and the lovely book smell! Kindle is a little jealous, I think. |
And here's the reason why - ok, one of MANY reasons:
----
"The chocolates?"
"No, the drawings."
"I used to love a cigar. It didn't have to be a whole one. Half would do."
"They gave you different cancers, didn't they?"
"What did?"
"Cigarettes, pipes, cigars. Didn't pipes give you lip cancer?"
"What did cigars give you?"
"Oh, the poshest kind."
"What's a posh cancer? Isn't that a contradiction in terms?"
"Bum cancer's got to be the bottom of the pile."
J. Barnes, Pulse - At Phil and Joanna's 1
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That's a dinner conversation a group of friends are having during dinner. I'm still chuckling. A few minutes ago, I was laughing hard.
I love you, Barnes.
Jules
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