So it turns out The Grapes of Wrath is not the kind of book one can ‘slam down’. It is in fact the kind of book that changes you.
Steinbeck is affecting me in ways I hadn’t anticipated. I cry when I read all the time, but never like this. Today I wept in the milk aisle at the supermarket because I. Am. Changed.
My children will inherit the earth not long from now and a worm farm, a little recycling and footing it where possible are simply inadequate in securing a healthy planet for them. My commitment to making this human-infested shithole better begins and ends with ethical consumption.
I sobbed my way through Chapter 9 of The Grapes of Wrath. It is so sad there were nose tears. I have the feeling it’s only going to get worse.
Eternal sad face.
rafa and what's his face @ men's final french open, 2011
I’d like to blame it all on being very ill after a trip to Sydney (I really was), but the truth is, a little event at Roland Garros put a world-class moratorium on my book blog. I’m a little bit of a tennis fan, so May/June are write-off months for me. I watch live sports all night and sleepwalk all day.
I have a week or two before SW19 flu (a.k.a. Wimbledon) takes hold, so I’ll be slamming down the rest of The Grapes of Wrath and The Heart of the Matter before I become hopelessly distracted again.
The pains of blogging! Vamos Rafa and Serena!!!