I finally read Beloved, by Toni Morrison, which was da winner of the NY Times survey seeking to crown the best American novel published in the past 25 years.
I had been avoiding it for a while, like I avoid reading many great books. I procrastinate as if they are homework I don't want to complete or movies I can never see for the first time again. In January, while I was 'on vacation' from blogging, the Seattle Public Library sent me an email telling me there was a copy waiting for me on my special shelf, and it was time.
I read it, but I didn't feel I could write about it. I don't feel qualified. In fact I feel grossly inadequate. When the New York Times reviewed it, they asked Margaret Atwood. That's about right.
I am too tired to talk about pain so deep. Having written that sentence, I reread it and realize that my reaction to this book is all about me. Inevitable, perhaps, but disappointingly egoistic.
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