This week in words:
On Sunday | The New Yorker. I am not good at reading TNY regularly. When I’m not careful, it stacks up and I start to feel stressed out. This week I tried to start something new. I want to take time on Sunday morning to drink my coffee and read at least some of this week’s issue. I always find an article or a short story to love. It’s time I made it a ritual.
During the week | The Unfortunate Importance of Beauty by Amanda Filipacchi. I have yet to crack the beautiful cover of this surrealist whoddunit, but I am hoping to have it finished before Friday. Filipacchi wrote about beauty for The New Yorker recently, and I immediately wanted to review it:
After all, finding oneself beautiful when one is not: Is that not the next best thing to actually being beautiful? And the detail grew. Before I knew it, I was writing a fictional meditation on beauty—a disapproval of it, but also a celebration of it.
In my car | The Silkworm by Robert Galbraith, AKA J.K. Rowling. For short bursts of reading-while-driving and reading-while-exercising, I have found that I love a good ol’ fashioned mystery. I enjoyed The Cuckoo’s Calling, and so far The Silkworm seems to be equally good.
Are you reading anything great this week?