The hunger that never goes away...

I've been reading like an insane woman. Really. It's ridiculous. I have about 10 books piled up beside my bed. I read them, paying as much attention to each page as I can, yet trying to finish each one before the due date pops up like a red-hot toaster pastry. The first book in this series of Madwoman-Literature-devouring was "The Graduate" by Charles Webb. It's a light book, in both content and actual size. If not for the conspicuous raised-leg shot of Mrs. Robinson's on the cover, I might have read it everysinglewhere I went. Instead, I read with caution, certain that those who had never cracked the book would think I was reading an explicitly sexual novel. It wasn't. Charles Webb's book was okay. Now... I'm sorry. This man wrote "The Graduate" before I was even a possibility. Before my parents knew each other even existed, he had written and had a movie made from his idea. Who am I to judge it right? But..well. I just wasn't all that impressed with his writing. It was basic, simple writing. No flowery sentences. No blooming metaphors. Just straight writing pretty much all the way. And Benjamin's character wasn't as charming or interesting as Dustin Hoffman made him on screen. This could be the first time I say this: The movie was more intriguing than the book. They hardly differentiated from the actual novel when making the movie. I mean the dialogue is basically the same and everything.

Well, when I finally finished that I picked up Angel Nissel's book entitled, "Mixed: My life in Black and White". She writes about her life as the product of an interracial marriage. It's amazing how her entire existence is practically ruined by this hunt to become apart of one group. To find acceptance with a group she only half belongs to: Blacks. To figure out and get around her distrust of the other side of her self: Whites. And trying to experiment and determine which religions would offer her the 'posse' of folks who didn't care about her "good hair" or her "high-yellow" color. The heartbreaking thing is that she never actually finds what she's looking for: just a place to belong. Her journey is funny, truthful, interesting and a very good read, though. While I'm not mixed (not noticeably so, at least) my child(ren) will be. This book offered up some very good advice for Sonny and me to use and re-use as our kids grow up in a color/racially conscious world.

Now I'm reading a collection of short stories from Leo Tolstoy. I never picked up one of his books in my life. Not even when I worked as a page at the NY Public Library and would shelve books. But since I dived into the first story, "Family Happiness", I must admit it's not only excellent writing but it's enjoyable. I'm not scratching the hell out of my head like when I tried Mary Shelley's "Frankenstein" (I seriously got as far as the second page before I set the book down and never returned to it). I'll probably blog about it when I'm done :)

Hey... reading anything good lately?