A Moveable Feast and the Truth of the Matter

This weekend while at the beach, I read Ernest Hemingway's A Moveable Feast. It was, frankly, a little odd. I found myself wanting to shake him through the pages of the book and exclaim, "Get on with it already!" He wrote random things, and while some of his accounts were interesting and added to my ever growing list of books to read, I couldn't help but feel that he was writing because he was *a writer* and not because he had anything of great import to say.

Now... I will read some others - the Old Man and the Sea has been on my list for some time now. And I will suspend disbelief until I can get to that and a Farewell to Arms. After that, I won't be shy about saying that I don't care for Hemingway, if indeed, I don't care for Hemingway. Lovely name and all...

Robb Foreman Dew wrote the Truth of the Matter... It's an interesting story, and again, one that meanders in various directions... But it has a solid-ish story line about Agnes Scofield and her relationship with her children as they get older, and her reflections on her sense of self as they move away... All in all, a pretty good read.

I'm off to a good start. Mom summed up my overzealous plan last year of reading one hundred books, however, when she said, "A hundred books? Who in the world reads a hundred books in a year? I doubt that even Grandma reads a hundred books in a year!" So my aspirations of greatness have been gently brought back to reality as I note that even the greatest and most volumetric reader I know manages to leave room for real life... So hey... I'll keep adding books to the list, and maybe one day, I'll be close.

I guess it would be kind of sad if I got to the end of my list.