And thanks to my friend (and periodic commenter here) K.:

"Legume Literature". About reading for the sheer joy of reading. (And yes - I know many people who sadly have said that they "don't read for fun" any more, and that the last time they really did was when they were a child, and they just read TO read.

A snippet:

So I was taken aback after one of these events when, as the room emptied out, a woman of about sixty, nattily dressed in brown tweed, sidled up to me and confessed, on a mournful note: “I don’t read books anymore.”

This statement was as startling to me as if she’d said, “I don’t eat food anymore.” I live and breathe books, and could not imagine life without them. And here was this woman — meticulously groomed, with thoughtful eyes, a woman I would have guessed was a discriminating reader — telling me she did not read books at all.

“I liked what you said in your talk about how you grew up loving Nancy Drew,” she said. “You reminded me of how much I used to love books.”

“But you don’t anymore?”

“No.”

“When was the last time you really enjoyed a book?” I asked.

She thought this over for a moment. And finally said, with a look of self-revelation: “When I was a child. When I could read what I wanted to.”

She did not need to explain this; we both understood that, along with the self-consciousness of adulthood, comes the compulsion to read books we don’t really want to read, books that are designed to challenge our minds and leave us feeling all the more accomplished for having read them. Books that are “worthy” of our precious time. Books we don’t necessarily want to read.

And you know? I sometimes do that. I apologize ALL THE TIME for reading and loving mystery novels. Because they're not seen as "great literature." Because I read them because they are fun and entertaining and I have maybe a little bit of a literary crush on Albert Campion or Roderick Alleyn.

And I really shouldn't apologize. Because, dangit, it's MY free time and I should just read what I want, what makes me happy.

And oh, I do read "meatier" stuff sometimes - I've got Robert Farrar Capon's "Supper of the Lamb" propped up on my dining room table and I read a few pages of it at every meal. And I'm working my way thoughtfully through Howard Mansfield's "In the Memory House." And I'm working along on "Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell." And I am enjoying all of those. And I'm not reading them because I "have" to or because I think they're "improving" books, but because the ideas in them interest me, and I want to think about them, play with them in my head.

But when I'm tired at the end of the day, and I just want to be entertained, I want to shift my mind off of work and make myself ready for sleep, I want something entertaining - and to me, that usually means a mystery novel.

And I've also picked up some books and started to read them, and not finished them. Because they bore me. Or because the attitude of the author infuriates me. Or because the writing is so polished, so lapidary, that it's kind of like eating a big meal at a French restaurant with all the sauces on it when what you're really used to is peanut butter sandwiches on whole-wheat and apples straight from the tree. (I am remembering now, the older sister of a friend - one of her dates took her out to a very fancy French place - one with all the sauces and all the butter and everything - and because my friend's family was one where meals were typically fairly plain and fairly "American farmer" in their style, the poor girl wound up getting carsick in her date's car, because all the rich food disagreed with her.)

And I admit to feeling guilt over not finishing a book - more guilt, really, than I feel over pulling another mystery off the shelf - it's like vestiges of the old "clean plate club" (which is also, psychologically speaking, not the best idea for kids...sometimes, when a kid stops eating, it's really because they are full).

So I'm going to come right out and say this: Joseph Ellis may be a great history writer. But his books do not keep my interest sufficiently well. I have "Founding Brothers." And I have his biographies of Washington and Jefferson. I gave both Founding Brothers and the Jefferson bio the good college try, and just couldn't finish them. For some reason, the way he writes is just not memorable to me. I can't remember what I've read from his books...and that bothers me. And I'm going to cease feeling bad about that, I'm going to allow myself to start a new history book even though I have about 40 pages left in "Founding Brothers" (that's another one of my rules: I can only read one book of a genre at a time - only one mystery, and only one "straight novel" and only one history, and only one book of essays.)

(And this is my stubbornness: as I write this, I think, "You know, I should re-start that Jefferson bio; maybe it will make an impression on my mind this time.")