Winter of Content

I have a new view. Out my window, I can see what in summer was hidden to me. I don't mean the forests or the hill, the church spire or clock, or the road that rumbles beneath the wheels of taxis dropping neighbors off after late nights out. The view that I mean is what we hide from ourselves. It is the uncharted river way when we plan something else. It comes not when leaves fall but us. A broken arm. A lucky break, I am told given what could have been. But to a writer, an arm is more than bones and tendons. It releases the songs within. Think of a summer's day where there is water. The boat can go out. The skies are clear. You pull on your clothes and set out. Then, you find there is no pier.

So, I've been on the shore staring out at my boat. That unfinished novel has had to wait. At least, I could read. And read, I did for two months. Off the shelves at home (as I couldn't go out) here is my list of "light" books - those that one hand could steer me on adventures.

Brideshead Revisited (Waugh)
Remains of the Day (Ishiguro)
Red Platoon (Romesha)
A Quiet Man (Isherwood)
The Prodigy (Hesse)
The Patriots (Barlow)
Glory (Nabokov)
Claudine and Annie (Colette)
Clauding Married (Colette)
The Heart of the Matter (Greene)
The Sound and the Fury (Faukner)
At Home (Plomer)
The Honorary Consul (Greene)
Light in August (Faulkner)
To the Lighthouse (Woolf)
The Razor's Edge (Maugham)
Heart of Darkness (Conrad)
A Death in the Family (Agee)
The Human Factor (Greene)
Impatience of the Heart (Zweig)
The Explorer ( Maugham)
Billy Budd (Melville)

Reviews to come.