On most days I recognize that I have a good job, even a cool job on very good days, and I'm fortunate that my job allows me to travel. "Allow" isn't quite the word, though. Force. Yes, that's it. Forces me to travel. And not Business Class like the glory days of consulting. Coach. That only bothers me on long-haul flights where complementary upgrades are a thing of the past. New York to Boston? Upgraded every time. New York to SF? Never. But I digress.
The real point of this post is the challenge of picking out the right reading material.
I'll be gone two nights in a city that isn't known for night life, or life of any time of day for that matter, so books are even more essential than usual. Dennis Lehane's Gone, Baby, Gone is certainly along for the ride. Hobsbawm, though? Do I really want to spend my time in a Rustbelt city reading about the evils of capitalism? I can't bring another Lehane because I'm metering his books out slowly and I know I'll need one for that trip to Portland next week. Martha Grimes is the ticket, her books are always better read than listened to anyway. Along with Red Mutiny on the Shuffle I'll be set.
The truth is I'm agonizing even more than usual because I know that the Kindle I've ordered will make all of this worry unnecessary. One small device, 2,000 books; even I can't be disappointed with that. I've already been trolling the Amazon Kindle store picking out ebooks. All those books I've been neglecting to buy because of finite bookshelf space need be neglected no more. Not only will they have a home, they'll get to travel too. Coach, of course.
From War of Nations to Class War
Maybe it's time for me to accept that I like subjects that are depressing. Evidence for this? After reading volume two of history of the Hundred Years War and a novel about World War II in which nearly everyone gets fired on by the enemy I am now reading two books that focus on the nasty brutish and short lives of the proletariat.
Red Mutiny tells the story of the 1905 mutiny on the Russian battleship Potemkin. Bascomb doesn't have to work hard to have you rooting for the sailors. They are all but kidnapped from their homes, treated like animals by the officers, beaten at the slightest provocation and then forced to eat maggoty meat. Down with the Tsar, indeed. Tangentially, I'm listening to the audiobook of this and I have to say that narrator John McDonough would be a perfect choice to read a Victorian era ghost story.
Eric Hobsbawm has been flying the red flag from his mast for years. His histories are rightly regarded as classics. I'm finally tackling The Age of Revolution in which he tells the story of the "dual revolutions" of Britain (Industrial) and France (class). For a writer with an agenda, Hobsbawm never puts that agenda first. Still, only 37 pages in and he's already provided such quotes as:
I'm also reading Dennis Lehane's Gone, Baby, Gone and anyone who's read Lehane knows his genius for depicting the lives of the permanent underclass that preys on itself. So that's hardly light relief.
Why can't I read books with happy endings? A nice story about a family of happy kittens that throws a party for the family of kittens next door. Well, maybe not. Chicklit? I'd have to blind myself first to read it, and I can't believe they can pay someone enough to read that crap out loud without vomiting repeatedly so audiobooks are out. Besides, bad writing is more depressing than oppression.
I think it's time to break out the Georgette Heyers.
Red Mutiny tells the story of the 1905 mutiny on the Russian battleship Potemkin. Bascomb doesn't have to work hard to have you rooting for the sailors. They are all but kidnapped from their homes, treated like animals by the officers, beaten at the slightest provocation and then forced to eat maggoty meat. Down with the Tsar, indeed. Tangentially, I'm listening to the audiobook of this and I have to say that narrator John McDonough would be a perfect choice to read a Victorian era ghost story.
Eric Hobsbawm has been flying the red flag from his mast for years. His histories are rightly regarded as classics. I'm finally tackling The Age of Revolution in which he tells the story of the "dual revolutions" of Britain (Industrial) and France (class). For a writer with an agenda, Hobsbawm never puts that agenda first. Still, only 37 pages in and he's already provided such quotes as:
- "extorted from the miserably peasantry"
- "battening on the surrounding peasantry"
- "extortionate money-rents"
I'm also reading Dennis Lehane's Gone, Baby, Gone and anyone who's read Lehane knows his genius for depicting the lives of the permanent underclass that preys on itself. So that's hardly light relief.
Why can't I read books with happy endings? A nice story about a family of happy kittens that throws a party for the family of kittens next door. Well, maybe not. Chicklit? I'd have to blind myself first to read it, and I can't believe they can pay someone enough to read that crap out loud without vomiting repeatedly so audiobooks are out. Besides, bad writing is more depressing than oppression.
I think it's time to break out the Georgette Heyers.
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