In the way of my reads...

In the way of books, I've enjoyed them as a real solace of late. Recently, I finished reading Samuel Beckett's episodic prose that also doubles up as a theatre monologue, called Company, The many scenes of childhood through the windows of an old man's eyes, were subdued, melancholy, lightly-humoured, deeply profound and engaging.

I followed this up with Anne Enright's The Gathering and was able to learn about creative writing techniques from the way she presented a well-crafted family story on the brink of destruction with an astonishing inventiveness . This, as well as being suitably entertained. I'm now reading Andrea Camilleri's Rounding the Mark - one of several stories detailing the Inspector Montalbano Mystery series. I love sleuth stories. Love, love, love them! In this vein, I enjoy British, French and Italian thrillers when I have the time. My favourite British crime writer is probably Ruth Rendell. I also make it a point to catch the hardy old British sleuth stories on telly everytime.

The day before while window-shopping at Waterstone's on Jervis Street, I had treated myself to a rare display find; The Philosophy of Andy Warhol. The paperback stayed a bookseller's choice and at 15 euros, was the last copy left on the shelf. I will probably get started on it next thing... I find the prospect exciting and must painfully ignore, for the moment, the other marvellousl 'unread' reads fast piling up on my shelves.

I meant to open a literary blog to talk about my reads and other growing interests like the opera, cuisine and theatre plays with a far more studied intensity but I haven't yet had the time. I must try and open that blog tonight.