A Confession

I went to the library yesterday not to get books but to return them. I parted with two books that I have not read: Curtis Sittenfeld's American Wife and David Wroblewski's The Story of Edgar Sawtelle. The worst part is that they aren't even due until next week.

I pledged to read these books, which were on the Entertainment Weekly Best Fiction of 2008, before the end of the year. Maybe I still will. The other eight titles I read were all wonderful - each in its own way - so I don't think that's the problem.

What has caused this slump? I'm even stalled with my current read (Thomas Pynchon's Inherent Vice) and haven't picked it up in days. It's not on the list but is an author I thought I SHOULD read. My guess is that reading assigned books, even when self-assigned, seems more like work than fun.

Watch this space to see if I regain my will to finish the last two books on the list. So close and yet so far. (Did I mention the heft of those two titles?)