The New York Times has announced its ten best books of 2005. Working in publishing, I don’t have much time to… what’s the word I’m looking for… oh, read many published books. The only one of this batch I’m familiar with is Saturday by McEwan. His previous novel, Atonement, was one of the two or three best I’d ever read, so I was eager to see how he followed it up. It was good. No Atonement, but good. The man can write a sentence.
As for the rest here, I’ll definitely get to Zadie Smith’s latest, and I’ve been meaning to pick up a copy of Prep. My silliest ambition is to read Tony Judt’s book, which was sent to me by a friend at his publisher. It’s approximately 33,480 pages, and I should be able to finish by June 2058 if I play my cards right, and if I live that long. (I hope to be a robust 84 when I’m done.)
(By the way, I meant my silliest reading ambition. My silliest life ambition is to play shortstop for the Yankees — the likelihood of which seems inversely proportionate to the difficulty I have climbing the escalator stairs in the subway every morning.)
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