What is happening to me? For the past month, I've let a stack of fiction books languish on my bookshelf while I've been devouring...wait for it...non-fiction. Marilynne Robinson's Gilead...John Dos Passos' The 42nd Parallel...Kiran Desai, Coetzee, William Trevor, David Mitchell, I am neglecting all of them! I see their beautiful spines, unbroken and waiting for me. And for what do I reach? A dark, harrowing--and fascinating--book about Portland street families. Definitely not my usual fare.
Whom can I blame for this? My volunteering at the Belmont Library (which I adore)? I have decided to apply to some MLS programs in the fall, so as a future librarian, I probably should acquaint with more than one form of writing. But I have to tell you folks, I don't see this ending anytime soon. After I finish All God's Children, it's Liza Mundy's Everything Conceivable for me. And then...and then...I just must have an obsessive personality. Shhh...don't tell...I haven't knit a stitch in days!
I also learned last week that one of my literature professors from college, Dorothy Berkson, passed away in April. She advised my thesis paper on the Brontes and was an invaluable source on anything related to feminism and feminist literature. She retired a year or so after I graduated, and was winding down her career while I was in college, but she had also been a driving force behind establishing the annual Gender Studies Symposium and was well-known for her criticism of early American literature. It's a pity that future LCers may never know that.