September 25, 2016
Move to the new house complete, I now enjoy a thirty-five plus minute drive to work, usually more on the way home. This leaves me with some time to pass while in traffic. I’m sure there are many options. But I did not hesitate. Once the move was scheduled, I hit the library for books on compact disc.
This commute gives me at least an hour a day of reading time. Or, at least, being read to time. Others in traffic around me are frustrated, impatient, even angry. Me, I don’t even mind failing to make the yellow light. It’s an extra minute of story.
I’ve finished Chris Kyle’s autobiography, “American Sniper.” I’d already seen the movie. It was interesting seeing what bits and pieces the screen writers pulled out of the book for the screenplay, what changes they made, and what was sheer invention.
I’m two discs into “Seveneves,” Neil Stephenson’s latest. As usual, it is gripping and brilliantly written. I do wonder if he’ll manage to stick the landing. While I take a backseat to no one in appreciation of his writing, he does have a touch of Stephen King-itis: the endings of his books can come across as perfunctory, tacked-on, unsatisfactory. I wonder if this is in part due to the length of his books. Given the time we invest as readers, perhaps our expectations are raised, or our involvement in the characters is such that we feel somehow owed more payoff, maybe an epilogue with a synopsis of each surviving major character’s post-story existence.
In any case, I intend to use the time for more than listening to the radio. I suppose I ought to get back into Spanish language studies. Quisas. I’ve got plenty of time.