After recovering from laryngitis last week, I finally had the chance to turn my attention to reading my books. Yay! Only I soon found out that laryngitis or not, I really couldn’t find the interest to read The Age of Innocence by Edith Wharton.

I know. I know. Ms. Wharton won the Pulitzer Prize for this. I really don’t know what my problem is with this book. Maybe I got so bored reading all that gossiping about Madame Ellen Olenska. I am determined to finish this, however. I’m just going to set it aside for now.

I’ve moved on to The Portrait of A Young Lady by Henry James. Isabel is the type of person who tells it like it is. She makes the story interesting. So interesting that I didn’t realize that I was already on page 120 on the first night I read it.

Here’s Isable Archer from The Portrait of a Lady.

I wasn’t going to read it until December, but War and Peace by Leo Tolstoy was just calling my name one chilly Friday evening. Finally, I just said, “What the heck! It can’t hurt.” So I plucked it out from my bookshelf and started reading. I finished the first chapter, the second…and then the third… Well, you get the picture. I was so absorbed in the story that I almost didn’t take my sister’s invitation to go watch Cirque du Freak The Vampire’s Assistant. (She was paying. How can I say no?) I don’t care how long it will take me to finish War and Peace, but I do intend to enjoy every page of it.

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