Bedtime Reading
Though the child doesn't need anybody reading to him anymore -- he does a lot of that on his own -- we still keep the custom of reading to him every night, before he goes to sleep. Sometimes I read, and sometimes Sam does, when I have a night class or am out of town. We read different books. We'll read new books, if they sound interesting, but mostly we like to read the child things we loved ourselves as children.
Hence the child has. of late, been subjected to The Count of Monte Cristo and Birds, Beasts, and Relatives, in rotation.
Sam loved The Count of Monte Cristo when he was a boy, though he believes he probably read an abridged version, rather than the tome he and the child are struggling through, which has over 1300 pages, I gather, if it's the one I see listed on Amazon.
The reviews over at Amazon sound just like Sam did when he sold the child on the book -- lots of fights! plenty of action! killer plot! -- but the guys here report to me that they're basically spending their time slogging through a lot of white-collar crime (Our Hero seeks revenge by ruining bad guys through insider trading, as far as I can tell), with no swashbuckling in sight.
Maybe they got the wrong edition.
In the meantime, since the Child Protection Services haven't caught up with me, I'm still reading the child the sort of book that children under 16 probably shouldn't be reading. Last year, I read him Red Sky at Morning, which was a BIG hit, but I had to skip some of the sex. Now, I'm entertaining him with Gerald Durrell's hilarious stories about growing up in Corfu with his eccentric family. The other night we heard about some drunken friends of Gerald's brother Larry (who would later go on to his own fame) showing up at 3 in the morning, waking everybody up, and insisting that the family hear the writing one of them had just finished, the first chapter of a book to be entitled The Suddenly Book. It never got published, so you can't buy it, but I love you dearly, so I provide it here, in its entirety:
Suddenly, suddenly, suddenly, suddenly, there he was and then suddenly, there she was, suddenly, suddenly, suddenly. And suddenly he looked at her, suddenly, suddenly, suddenly, and she suddenly looked at him, suddenly. She suddenly opened her arms, suddenly, suddenly, and he opened his arms, suddenly. Then suddenly they came together and suddenly, suddenly, suddenly, he could feel the warmth of her body and suddenly, suddenly she could feel the warmth of his mouth on hers as they suddenly, suddenly, suddenly, suddenly fell on the couch together.
The child nearly fell out of bed laughing. And what a good object lesson! Friends don't let friends write drunk.
Hence the child has. of late, been subjected to The Count of Monte Cristo and Birds, Beasts, and Relatives, in rotation.
Sam loved The Count of Monte Cristo when he was a boy, though he believes he probably read an abridged version, rather than the tome he and the child are struggling through, which has over 1300 pages, I gather, if it's the one I see listed on Amazon.
The reviews over at Amazon sound just like Sam did when he sold the child on the book -- lots of fights! plenty of action! killer plot! -- but the guys here report to me that they're basically spending their time slogging through a lot of white-collar crime (Our Hero seeks revenge by ruining bad guys through insider trading, as far as I can tell), with no swashbuckling in sight.
Maybe they got the wrong edition.
In the meantime, since the Child Protection Services haven't caught up with me, I'm still reading the child the sort of book that children under 16 probably shouldn't be reading. Last year, I read him Red Sky at Morning, which was a BIG hit, but I had to skip some of the sex. Now, I'm entertaining him with Gerald Durrell's hilarious stories about growing up in Corfu with his eccentric family. The other night we heard about some drunken friends of Gerald's brother Larry (who would later go on to his own fame) showing up at 3 in the morning, waking everybody up, and insisting that the family hear the writing one of them had just finished, the first chapter of a book to be entitled The Suddenly Book. It never got published, so you can't buy it, but I love you dearly, so I provide it here, in its entirety:
Suddenly, suddenly, suddenly, suddenly, there he was and then suddenly, there she was, suddenly, suddenly, suddenly. And suddenly he looked at her, suddenly, suddenly, suddenly, and she suddenly looked at him, suddenly. She suddenly opened her arms, suddenly, suddenly, and he opened his arms, suddenly. Then suddenly they came together and suddenly, suddenly, suddenly, he could feel the warmth of her body and suddenly, suddenly she could feel the warmth of his mouth on hers as they suddenly, suddenly, suddenly, suddenly fell on the couch together.
The child nearly fell out of bed laughing. And what a good object lesson! Friends don't let friends write drunk.
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