Look at this tangle of thorns

I've always thought it would be cool to write down the number of the books I've read, for as long as I can remember.  But I guess it's also really useful to jot down my reactions to a book, because I know that I'll forget the details eventually after finishing it and then I'll walk away with a general sense of plot, blurry impression of the writing style, and vague memories of theme.  This blog is going to be a haphazard collection of book reviews, notes, thoughts, lit crit, selected quotes of the books I've read, starting 2009.  I don't have a specific system in mind, although I hope it will be a somewhat chronological snapshot of what literature du jour I'm straining my eyes over.  (One thing I definitely know that I'm not going to do is write a recap--you can look up the plot anywhere on the web or even the back flap of the book.)  I admit, I've always been prone to classics, but hopefully this record will also help me branch out from just keeping company with the stories written by dead white people.  This journal is long over due.  

I feel like I should christen this blog, but I can't smash a bottle of champagne against the screen without resulting in a very sticky laptop, so here's the opening from one of my favorite books of all time, Vladimir Nabokov's Lolita:

Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. Lo-lee-ta: the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the teeth. Lo. Lee. Ta.

She was Lo, plain Lo, in the morning, standing four feet ten in one sock. She was Lola in slacks. She was Dolly at school. She was Dolores on the dotted line. But in my arms she was always Lolita.

Did she have a precursor? She did, indeed she did. In point of fact, there might have been no Lolita at all had I not loved, one summer, a certain initial girl-child. In a princedom by the sea. Oh when? About as many years before Lolita was born as my age was that summer. You can always count on a murderer for a fancy prose style.

Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, exhibit number one is what the seraphs, the misinformed, simple, noble-winged seraphs, envied. Look at this tangle of thorns.

Gorgeous sense of rhythm and style, self deprecating humor, parallel structure, not to mention the inclusion of allusions to Poe--this hits the spot.