Books

After having kids, my opportunities for intelligent input became slim and I began to feel my brain cells disappear. Pat the bunny just wasn't a stimulating read. From time to time I would sneak a book in, but not like in my past life when I would have two or three going at once, just to satisfy my complete addiction to reading and learning.

Well, I didn't' want to do any irreparable damage to my brain, so I joined a book club. Our first book was an easy read, The Middle Place, a memoir about a breast cancer survivor. It was good, but nothing too deep to think about.

I suggested our next book, The Wind up Bird Chronicles. A friend who somehow managed to keep reading despite becoming a mom recommended it to me.

I must say that after finishing it, I didn't know what I thought or felt. It was so odd, disturbing, uneventful, and yet very compelling. I still don't know if I liked it or if I just kept waiting to find out how things would end up, and I'm still waiting.

It was over 600 pages long, and in some ways I think it would have been better if some of the sub stories were left out. I think that I could have still gotten a sense of how awful, senseless and terrible war is, or humanity, or just life, without reading so many bad things. And the dream versus reality, coversations in letters and over e-mail, it all took away any empowerment and hope.

I'm still thinking about it and that makes it interesting.