I haven't been in the mood to read. Or perhaps I haven't been reading the right things. Or perhaps (and I do think this is the root of it) my mental energy has been sapped by work and I haven't had it in me to read. (Is that different from not being "in the mood"? Who can say.) The week before last, I continued to read Grove in small bits and I got through the second section (out of three) in it. I also participated in a week-long #1000wordsofsummer beginning August 10. The two-week #1000wordsofsummer hit at a time when I was very busy with work and I didn't feel up to it, but when this one came up, even though I was again (still?) very busy with work, I decided to give it a go. I wrote upwards of 1000 words on 6 of the 7 days (and 500 and change on one of them), and ended the week with some 9500 words. (On one of those days, I wrote the >1000-word love letter to markets that was my last post here.) Grove turns out to be a very good book to read when I want to write. Or maybe just a very good book for what I've mostly been writing, which is memories of travel. That is, in fact, much of what Grove is, and it's definitely been part of my inspiration.
Last weekend, in a very unusual turn of events this side of COVID, I didn't read at all. I had to work half a day or so on Saturday, and after that I just laid around on the couch for a while, cooked dinner at 4pm, and then watched TV the rest of the evening. Sunday, I ran two errands, which involved walking 4 miles in total, and I discovered that I haven't kept in shape quite as much as I'd hoped (my legs were very sore on Monday). But it was nice to be out. It was in the 60s and rainy here, and I wore long pants and a jacket and it felt pleasantly cool. Monday morning, I thought about resuming Grove, but decided to take a week away and started The Intuitionist instead. Given that the last time I took a break from Grove, I chose a 700-page book and then also had to read another book for a book club, I thought I'd be smarter and pick something short, something that might last me a few days, and then I could go back to Grove refreshed, or at least sated in my desire for plot. But that's not quite how it worked out. It wasn't The Intuitionist's fault. I made decent headway Monday and Tuesday, but I barely touched it Wednesday and didn't at all on Thursday. I thought I could catch up on Friday because my day theoretically ends early on summer Fridays, but I didn't actually end early, and only had a little time with it before I had to do other things. Finally, yesterday, I went back to it and read in earnest. And then I read the full second half ("half" in how the book is broken up, it's actually less than half) this morning before I had to work again at 12:30.
It seems like The Intuitionist is the Colson Whitehead novel that gets recommended to me most often. I did enjoy it quite a bit, but I don't think it has the power of his two most recent books. In addition to those two, the other book of Whitehead's I've read is John Henry Days, about the to-do surrounding the issuance of a commemorative John Henry stamp, which I found slow going, but rewarding in the end. The Intuitionist reminded me more of it than the others. There was one thing peculiar to me that made The Intuitionist an interesting read. The book centers on the work of elevator inspectors. In my day job I work with the people who develop the elevator safety codes. One of my favorite people I know through work was personally responsible for this work at Otis, until his retirement several years ago. I kept wondering if he knew about this book. I'm half tempted to send it to him. I wonder what he would think.
