20 November, 2011

Short blog entry on being given a book

20 November 2011
471

R. Linda:

So there I was sitting by meself on me front stoop, minding me own business when up comes me old neighbour with a few books. He tells me he has been cleaning out some shelves and had some books that might interest me. What he meant by this was that the books were all authored by English writers and I being British might like to have them.

Can I say something here? Being born in the United Kingdom and educated there, one is besotted with books by British authors. It is very rare to read something by an author from another country, though there is honourable mention of such authors. Furthermore, since England prides itself on inventing the English language AND that the English were very prolific writers, we corner the market on all that. Yes, we do and if you think your Hemingway can outdo our Dickens think again! So for me to be presented with five books by British authors well . . .

I was sad I was not asked about the American authors of such books as Of Mice and Men, The Great Gatsby, Catcher in the Rye, Slaughterhouse Five, or The Old Man and The Sea. I would read THOSE, but no, no, being British means staying with the Brits I guess. SIGH.

"What have you there Mr. H?" Asked I.

"Well now let's see Gabriel, I have Great Expectations by a guy named Dickens," he laughed, "I'm sure you've heard of HIM. And we have Goodbye to All That by Robert Graves, Emma by Jane Austen (a bit of a girly read)," another laugh, "Adam Bede by George Eliot, and finally we have Tom Jones by Henry Fielding. Can I interest you in all or any of them?"

"Well, I've read all of them except Tom Jones but Fielding isn't exactly me cuppa tea," I said.

"Okay then it's Fielding for you," he says and hands me it anyway. It was the smallest book and I thought well, ok. I shifted it around in me hands as we small-talked for a wee bit and then he left me with the wee book of Fielding.

I sat there watching him go and as he was heading down the driveway there came the delivery guy for him and the same thing, "Hey Mack you like to read?"

"Oi," I said as they walked off talking. I opened the small compact book and I swear R. Linda I thought me eyes were playing tricks on me I did, the print was minuscule. I mean I couldn't read it. I looked after the old man fading into the distance and thought to meself, he's in his sixties, wears glasses and he can read this? I, who can boast 20/20 vision will need a high-powered magnifying glass to read that book! So then I flipped to the last page, and OMG R. Linda the damn "little" book is 898 pages long! Holy cow me estimate of ever finishing that book would bring me to the ripe old age of 160! And that's after I find a magnifying glass that can magnify the script so it is readable.

I know what I said about prolific English writers, but THIS be ridiculous! Fielding wrote more books than I can count, he was one busy man in between his writing (law or some such endeavour) and he's credited with being the 18th Century novelist, the man who started it all. And have you ever seen a picture of this man? Well, they say men with large noses are very sensual beings and if his novels and his nose are any indication of that, then oh sure he was! But really? 898 pages of unreadably small print?

Gabe
Copyright © 2011 All rights reserved

2 comments:

Capt Jaack said...

Fielding mate? Seriously? Why not Stevenson or . . . uh that's right Melville not you fav forget that. I do happen to have upon me person a glass that magnifies treasure maps. I'd like it back but in light of this read taking you to your one hundred and sixth birthday, I'd rather keep it. Savvy?

Gabriel O'Sullivan said...

Me 160th birthday. I thought I'd get that straight before the correction committee gets in here, LOL. But in light of me speed reading, maybe I can whittle that down to me 106th MATE.