I counted up the books I read in the last month or so. About 8. One was a classic- Arthur Miller's The Crucible.
One was a memoir-Christopher Hitchen's Hitch-22. Two were fiction-Nancy Moser's Masquerade and Martin Amis' Night Train. Two were religious self help-The Strategically Small church (author escapes me) and Chasing Francis by Ian Cron . One was political- Jeremy Lott's William Buckley.
All great reads in their own way. Masquerade was set in my favorite era, and Night Train was an amazing feat of voicing-a writer from England managed to create the voice of a female cop from Chicago, and pulled it off! The self helps offered extraordinary insight into today's spiritual climate. Christopher Hitchen's memoir is like a side car trip through his mind. Rocky, but exhilarating.
None of the fiction touched me like Alexander Dumas' The Count of Monte Cristo, and Ray Bradbury's Something Wicked This Way Comes.
They are two of my favorites because of the unearthly stirrings they created inside me. The longing to be there, to be that person, to feel and experience what they did. Still. And I read them months ago.
That's the kind of book I like to read.
That's the kind of book I want to write.