Wednesday, August 11, 2004
The act of reading (and by reading I mean reading, not dissecting or translating, say, a sign) is, for me, surrounded by rituals:
I find it difficult to read books on airplanes. Magazines are perfect, because they don't demand any kind of attention span. My mind is usually on other things when I travel.
Reading in cars and buses makes me motion sick.
In the morning, on the tube, I am unable to read a book - too tired. On the way home at night, on the other hand, I read very well.
Chick-lit I prefer not to read at all. And anything by Tony Parsons.
- Magazines can be read pretty much anywhere, anytime. Non-fiction likewise.
- Poetry must be studied, preferably in a quiet atmosphere, best done seated upright, possibly with pen in hand, to scribble notes in the margin. Literary criticism likewise.
- Fiction can be read in most places, according to genre.
- Something drinkable must be present, preferably tea.
- Rain is good, or some kind of greyness, or the darkness of night - alternatively sunshine outdoors is good, but heat and humidity is a killer.
- Stomach must be pleasantly full, but not overstuffed, and it is recommended to have some kind of snack (of the bagged or wrapped variety) at hand. Nothing too sticky, though, as it must be possible to devour this snack with one hand, eyes not leaving the page.
- Other people's noises must be dealt with in a swift manner - make them go away, or at least into the other room.
I find it difficult to read books on airplanes. Magazines are perfect, because they don't demand any kind of attention span. My mind is usually on other things when I travel.
Reading in cars and buses makes me motion sick.
In the morning, on the tube, I am unable to read a book - too tired. On the way home at night, on the other hand, I read very well.
Chick-lit I prefer not to read at all. And anything by Tony Parsons.