Every now and then, I have to read something that is over one hundred years old. I love all sorts of books, and it is so easy to fall into the trap of reading the same genre ad nauseum. I read one book, and immediately I want another just like it, and another and another. It’s like binge-watching television, but with my library card.
So I make an effort to mix it up. This week, I’ve been trudging through The Private Memoirs and Confessions of a Justified Sinner by James Hogg.
I say trudging because I’ve found it absolutely impossible to move through this one quickly. I read a bit, put it down, read a bit, put it down…The story is slow and repetitive. It essentially tells the story twice from two different perspectives. Although there is violence (whee!), it’s mostly just a lot of chit-chat, so I have to get through all that anti-predestination philosophy to get to the MURDER. It’s kind of like the last hundred pages of The Jungle by Upton Sinclair, which I just totally skipped because it was just a long essay on socialism. It’s a bit much.
But I’m going to finish it. And I’m going to finish it with a red wine. I drink red wine much like I’m reading this book: slowly and sporadically. I am not a wino. In fact, I know nothing about wine. This is my red wine collection (note how it’s on my bookshelf).
I’m not even going to pretend to know what I’m talking about when I say that the Gouguenheim was my drink of choice for The Private Memoirs and Confessions… Something about its simplicity. I can drink a glass of it and reflect on the moral floundering of the elect. Ah yes. So deep. So deep.
But at any rate, drink red wine! Even though white is better, and beer is the best.