So after making it 14 pages into a 185-page book, and maybe 29 pages into a 246-page book, I halted to devour "The Sirens of Titan," at 319 pages, followed by the 465 breathtaking pages of "The Gargoyle," by Andrew Davidson. I like that I'm expanding my reading to include male authors, because I feel I've relied too heavily on females for my favorites in the past. I can safely say "The Gargoyle" is approaching favoritism. Although I usually say that after reading anything good. Sometimes they fall in favor, like "The Witch of Portobello," which I believe was basically just OK, although I enjoyed reading it.
"The Gargoyle" was given to me during SPI, so I've been carrying the ARC back and forth along the subway, which is where most of the reading of it was done. However, I did just finish it at home. I honestly couldn't put this book down. I literally wanted to have to wait for the train a long time, because it meant I could read more. I would be in the middle of a suspenseful scene when I reached my stop and be thoroughly irritated that I couldn't walk and read at the same time, though I've seen it done by others. I even read a good portion of this book standing up on the subway, which is funny for two reasons. This is a decent-size book and not nearly as easy to handle standing up as a mass-market. Also, I can remember conversing with my fellow SPIers that we would never be able to read on the subway, let alone in the standing position. Now I can't imagine being on the subway without something to read, even when it's way too crowded and I have to turn pages and hold the book with one hand as the train sways and jolts and disturbs my balance.
I intend to return to "How to Talk About Books You Haven't Read," but I can't say I agree that reading books isn't always necessary. I am so glad I read "The Gargoyle." And I'm impressed that it's a debut novel. I'm sort of intrigued by Dante's "Inferno" now, as it is discussed much within the novel. I never had to read more than a bit or piece of it in school, so I'm sure I didn't catch all the relevance, but the author did a fine job of explaining everything as far as I could tell.
The beginning of the book is graphic and gruesome, describing the narrator's experience in a car accident in which he is burned nearly to death. He meets an intriguing stranger as he recovers in the hospital, and she reveals to him through fascinating stories how the two were lovers in a previous lifetime. She also incorporates other love stories that prove symbolic, and the chapters alternate between her bedside tales and the narrator's current-life burn recovery. Their love is rekindled, though he remains convinced that Marianne is just a schizophrenic sculptress. She claims to be doing penance by giving "hearts" to the gargoyles she sculpts, saving her last heart for her lover. The narrator is self-aware as the author of a memoir, so my only regret is that Marianne didn't show more appreciation for her lover's writing as her presented her with his written versions of her stories. She really couldn't spend her time on Earth in this particular life as much of a physical lover to the narrator, and we just have to accept that their love transcended one minuscule lifetime and is fully realized later, presumably in heaven.
I'm really overwhelmed by the number of books I want to read next. Perhaps I should suck it up and finish the two I've already started. There are a few that I'd like to buy ... but considering the small number that represents my bank balance and the sheer number of unread books on my shelf, I guess they can wait.
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