It is possible for me to have more than one book on the go, especially during semester (bedtime fun book, multiple things being read for work). It's easiest if they are very different genres and time periods so they don't start to meld in my head.
However, my current situation is unsettled, ridiculous.
I started Shehan Karunatilaka's The Seven Moons of Maali Almeida. 43 pages in, I am wondering if this is simply not the right time for this? Too male maybe? Or lacking interiority? Or I just can't seem to latch on to the narrator and be interested?
I read half of Claudia Rankine's Don't Let me be Lonely yesterday, some of it while standing in front of the little free library in which I found it. Rankine quotes Cesaire, Coetzee! She's so good. Why did I not know this before? I am saving the other half.
At bedtime, not wanting Seven Moons, I tried Zadie Smith's The Fraud (Dude! I'm sure the David Copperfield feel is intentional, but even so. It's too Dickens/Austen and not enough ZS. Likely I need to give it more than 4 pages to be fair, but it was not love at first page, which surprised me. I generally love ZS).
Then (still at bedtime) I read a few pages of Ayobami Adebayo's A Spell of Good Things.
It was promising, so why, when I got up this morning, did I start Cynthia Green's blue feet monsoon over breakfast? It is full of references to Singapore in the 1980s (totally my jam). Who else remembers Paya Labar airport (precursor to fabulous new Changi)? Whoo! I do I do.
Efforts to get this laptop to connect to home wifi for more than 90 seconds are now in the "f*ck around with DNS" stage, which is REALLY advanced for me. Please send help.
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