Yes, I’m going back to 1954 again. Blogger’s prerogative.
As you may recall from this post last year, when I sat down and looked at the ten books I’d selected to read to represent the 1950s, I was deeply ashamed to realise that they all had something in common: they were all written by men. I hadn’t included a single novel written by a woman.
Jean-Paul Sartre died in 1980. Then, in 1986, Simone de Beauvoir passed away. They’re buried in the same grave in Paris’ Montparnasse cemetery.
I was born in the year 1978. Which means that, for a very short time, I shared the world with two of the people who, much later in my life, I’d come to list amongst my personal heroes.
I consider this a great honour.
The problem with reading a book every week? The more I read, the more I need to read. Every week, the list of books I want to buy only grows longer.
Sometimes, it seems as if I’m going nowhere; as if all I’m doing is mapping the disgusting depths of my own ignorance. But when I think about everything I’ve read over the past eleven months, I know I’m learning. Everyone has to begin their education somewhere.
Yes, eleven months. I can’t believe that the Book to the Future project is only one month away from its first birthday! This can mean only one thing…
I know I say this every week, however, this time, I mean it more than most – OMG WHAT A WEEK.
I’m writing to you from the strangest place ever. I’m currently sitting on a borrowed mattress in a spare room nearly ten hours away from my lovely, comfortable bed. I’m hunched over my laptop, typing away like some kind of crazy person. It’s dark, and I can’t see a thing – apart from my computer screen.
Angus and I decided to both take a week off work and go on a slightly impromptu road trip. More about that in the middle of the week…