Bruno!

Been book-reading up a storm. Winter brings it out in me, I guess. Also the kitten helps. Oh... yerrrs, I have a cat, pending approval by the church board (the church secretary, scrawling my name down on her to-do list, whispered behind her hand "It will be FINE don't worry." She's a cat-lady. She wants everyone to have cats, rental rules be damned). His name, pending approval, is Bruno. My coffee shop boss said he must always be referred to using a mock Slavic accent: "Bruno ees strong kitten. Bruno will not be takingkt the back talk from anyone." So, yes, it's very easy to lay for hours on my couch, reading a book, with the kitten sprawled across my stomach, purring and being adorable. I was worried that he was leading a boring life but I read this morning that cats sleep roughly 16 hours a day to prepare themselves for bursts of demonic prey-hunting energy.

Anyway, the books, a short list:

1. Written on the Body by Jeanette Winterson. She describes it as a novel about loss so, yes, totally uplifting stuff. But so beautifully written and then randomly hilarious. Also short. Can't put up with pages and pages about loss. Too depressing.

2. (already finished so does it really count? YES) The Shipping News by Annie Proulx (whose name is pronounced Proo, apparently, and not Pro-lux like I've always said it my mind, though not out loud since I was sure it couldn't be correct). Definitely one of the best books I've read in a while. The style was hard to get into at first, but once you have the rythmn down it's lovely. I liked best how she slowly brings in these really hard, biting social issues without hitting you over the head with them. Just weave in this thread, weave in that and then suddenly you're at the end of the book and someone's pain/experience just makes the bottom fall out of the world. It makes me want to go to Newfoundland. It also makes me love Astoria even more: that sort of rough-tumble, economically depressed, heavily fished, etc. I know that.

3. A Tree Grows in Brooklyn by Betty Smith. So many wonderful scenes and occasionally wonderful characters but Smith switches around so much. She'll draw this amazing portrait or situation then suddenly collapse into sentimental Dickens-style crap like: "OH THE GLOW OF THE CHRISTMAS TREE TURNING THE CHILDREN'S CHEEKS RUDDY WITH ANTICIPATION." Gahhhhh. No one cares. You can tell she wrote the book for a reason... well lots of reasons, whether she realized it or not. But one reason was so that people understood that the poor were people. She succeeds when she shows this in scenes at a doctor's office or in random conversations characters have with each other. She fails when she realizes what she's trying to do and goes gung ho into it. Then it's like she's throwing rocks at your face and hitting your toes with a hammer screaming "GET IT? GET IT?" And you're like, "YES. Dear lord! GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH"

4. Currently, I'm working on East of Eden. I had a history teacher who called Steinbeck a "naaaaaaaaaasty old man." The man can write like God though. How does (did) he do it? I want to lay his sentences out on the dissecting table and pull out my knives. I want this book to never end. Thankfully it's about 500+ pages.

Oh books books books. I love books. I love having books around me. I love going to the library and getting stacks of books. I love fobbing books off on other people. Ohhhhh books.

Well, I've spent the morning writing this and reading up on cat behavior and I need to get myself to the pet supply store. Bruno needs more stimulation, I guess. Something to suck up the screaming Satan vortex of his energy so he stops gnawing on my wrists and hiding under the bed to attack my ankles in the mornings. He respects M for some reason. Probably because M is also male. Vexing.

But, oh Bruno is so cute... especially when he curls up on my head at night and purrs like a train engine. A-dorable.