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  • Decompress. Focus. Go elsewhere. Read.

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    Cutter Girl! loves to read. Short stories, novels, memoirs, history, essays, poetry, travel narratives, even some philosophy, if I'm in a real "talking out of my rear" kind of mood. Some of my favorite writers include Ian McEwan, Raymond Carver, Alice Munro, Tim O'Brien, William Trevor, Charles Baxter, Edna O'Brien, James Joyce, Yeats, Ibsen, Kate Chopin, Jean Rhys, Zora Neale Hurston... I could seriously go on for pages.

    I'm reading or will be reading soon:

    Suite Francaise - Irene Nemirovsky
    Nora - Brenda Maddox
    The Exception - Christian Jungersen
    The Namesake - Jhumpa Lahiri
    A Fine Balance - Rohinton Mistry
    On the Natural History of Destruction - W. G. Sebald

    A few books that knocked me off my feet were:

    House of Sand and Fog
    by Andre Dubus III
    The Human Stain
    by Philip Roth

    Feast of Love
    by Charles Baxter
    The Hours
    by Michael Cunningham

    Book Headlines from The New York Times

    Below are some links to literary news, reviews, tidbits, and other resources. Write me if you know of any other informative sites to include. Thank you!

    Andre Dubus III quote courtesy of Random House

    Books at the BBC
    Book Magazine
    The Modern Word
    Quotations Finder
    Bartletts' Quotations
    Literary Resources on the Net
    The Literary Web
    IPL Literary Criticism
    Literary Marketplace
    The Literary Traveler Culture

    New York Times Book Review

    Times Literary Supplement
    Village Voice Literary Supplement
    Books at The Guardian

    Have you reckon'd a thousand acres much? have you reckon'd the earth much?
    Have you practis'd so long to learn to read?
    Have you felt so proud to get at the meaning of poems?
    Stop this day and night with me and you shall possess the origin of all poems,
    You shall possess the good of the earth and sun, (there are millions of suns left,)

    You shall no longer take things at second or third hand, nor look
    through the eyes of the dead, nor feed on the spectres in books,
    You shall not look through my eyes either, nor take things from me,
    You shall listen to all sides and filter them from your self...

    I know I have the best of time and space, and was never measured and never will be measured.
    I tramp a perpetual journey, (come listen all!)

    My signs are a rain-proof coat, good shoes, and a staff cut from the woods,
    No friend of mine takes his ease in my chair,
    I have no chair, no church, no philosophy,
    I lead no man to a dinner-table, library, exchange,

    But each man and each woman of you I lead upon a knoll,
    My left hand hooking you round the waist,
    My right hand pointing to landscapes of continents and the pub- lic road.

    Not I, not any one else can travel that road for you,
    You must travel it for yourself...
    It is not far, it is within reach,
    Perhaps you have been on it since you were born and did not know,
    Perhaps it is everywhere on water and on land.

    Long enough have you dream'd contemptible dreams,
    Now I wash the gum from your eyes,
    You must habit yourself to the dazzle of the light and of every moment of your life.

    You will hardly know who I am or what I mean,
    But I shall be good health to you nevertheless,
    And filter and fibre your blood.

    Failing to fetch me at first keep encouraged,
    Missing me one place search another,
    I stop somewhere waiting for you.

    excerpts from "Song of Myself," Walt Whitman

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