Concerning Books
Jan. 26th, 2008 05:16 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
niriniaI'm trying to find out what I should read, what I have (and where) and what I need to buy. So, I figured a list is convenient. So, in no particular order, books that I either must read, would like to read or feel I should read:
Victorian London, by Picard. I'm not reading it as much as leafing through. What posessed me to buy it, I wonder.
Sourcery, Maskerade, Reaper Man, all by Pratchett.
Heart of Darkness, by Conrad
Mary, by Nabokov
Dubilners and Ulysses, by Joyce
Julius Caesar and Twelfth Night, by Shakespeare. I'm buggered with Caesar, had it just been politics I had survived, but politics and Shakespeare ...
The Birthday Party, by Pinter.
Jane Eyre, Brontë
Mrs Dalloway, Woolf
Wide Sargasso Sea, Rhys
David Copperfield, Dickens. For when another temporary bout on insanity strikes me.
The Inner Life of Martin Frost, Auster
African Stories, Lessing
The Heart of the Matter, Greene
Lectures on Literature, Nabokov
Fatherland, Harris
War and Peace, Tolstoy
Jonathan Strange and Mr Norell, Clarke. I promised Dad I would read it and try to make some sense of it this summer, but never did, and he is still wondering what I might make of it. It is huge, and red and miserable.
The Flight from the Enchanter, Murdoch. The Sea, the Sea was anticlimatic, but this one looked interesting.
The Melancholy of Anatomy, Jackson. Very peculiar, by the looks of it. I think I might love it.
Ada or Ardor, Nabokov. Stationed by my bed, unfinished.
To the Lighthouse, Woolf
Før du sov, Ullmann. Should be bolded to showcase the one Norwegian on my list.
Half Life, by Shelley. If The Melancholy ... is any good, I will have to read her next novel, too. Post-modernism intrigues me.
The Bell Jar, by Sylvia Plath
Perhaps I should take a leaf out of Nærum's book and buy no new books this year, but read the ones I have instead?
Victorian London, by Picard. I'm not reading it as much as leafing through. What posessed me to buy it, I wonder.
Sourcery, Maskerade, Reaper Man, all by Pratchett.
Heart of Darkness, by Conrad
Mary, by Nabokov
Dubilners and Ulysses, by Joyce
Julius Caesar and Twelfth Night, by Shakespeare. I'm buggered with Caesar, had it just been politics I had survived, but politics and Shakespeare ...
The Birthday Party, by Pinter.
Jane Eyre, Brontë
Mrs Dalloway, Woolf
Wide Sargasso Sea, Rhys
David Copperfield, Dickens. For when another temporary bout on insanity strikes me.
The Inner Life of Martin Frost, Auster
African Stories, Lessing
The Heart of the Matter, Greene
Lectures on Literature, Nabokov
Fatherland, Harris
War and Peace, Tolstoy
Jonathan Strange and Mr Norell, Clarke. I promised Dad I would read it and try to make some sense of it this summer, but never did, and he is still wondering what I might make of it. It is huge, and red and miserable.
The Flight from the Enchanter, Murdoch. The Sea, the Sea was anticlimatic, but this one looked interesting.
The Melancholy of Anatomy, Jackson. Very peculiar, by the looks of it. I think I might love it.
Ada or Ardor, Nabokov. Stationed by my bed, unfinished.
To the Lighthouse, Woolf
Før du sov, Ullmann. Should be bolded to showcase the one Norwegian on my list.
Half Life, by Shelley. If The Melancholy ... is any good, I will have to read her next novel, too. Post-modernism intrigues me.
The Bell Jar, by Sylvia Plath
Perhaps I should take a leaf out of Nærum's book and buy no new books this year, but read the ones I have instead?
