My friend G asked me to consider the ways using an e-reader has changed my reading habits, and a couple sprang to mind.

I read different books on my e-reader than I do in print…I buy things that I wouldn’t want to take up space but still want to own. Most of the print books I’ve bought in the last year have probably been for other people (although that could also have had something to do with leaving the job where I got huge discounts on print books).

I’m not as determined about making sure I read everything. If there’s a chapter in a non-fiction book that’s beyond me, I skip it. If a novel isn’t “working” for me, I don’t stick it out like I used to. And I don’t think this is necessarily a bad thing. A big part of this is coming to the realization that I’ll never be able to read all the books one “should” read…I don’t finish something just because I’ve started it; I can move on to the next thing.

It’s not all about disposability; some of my ebooks are duplicates of print books I own that are early editions; my mother did me a great service getting me beautiful early copies to read as a child, but now I appreciate being able to leave them on the shelf.

Whether you’re reading e- or p-, I hope you got one or two good books for the holiday!

Merry Christmas

December 24, 2011

A long poem for what I hope is a peaceful, restful holiday.


Christmas Trees

by Robert Frost


A Christmas Circular Letter



The city had withdrawn into itself

And left at last the country to the country;

When between whirls of snow not come to lie

And whirls of foliage not yet laid, there drove

A stranger to our yard, who looked the city,

Yet did in country fashion in that there

He sat and waited till he drew us out

A-buttoning coats to ask him who he was.

He proved to be the city come again

To look for something it had left behind

And could not do without and keep its Christmas.

He asked if I would sell my Christmas trees;

My woods—the young fir balsams like a place

Where houses all are churches and have spires.

I hadn’t thought of them as Christmas Trees.

I doubt if I was tempted for a moment

To sell them off their feet to go in cars

And leave the slope behind the house all bare,

Where the sun shines now no warmer than the moon.

I’d hate to have them know it if I was.

Yet more I’d hate to hold my trees except

As others hold theirs or refuse for them,

Beyond the time of profitable growth,

The trial by market everything must come to.

I dallied so much with the thought of selling.

Then whether from mistaken courtesy

And fear of seeming short of speech, or whether

From hope of hearing good of what was mine,

I said, “There aren’t enough to be worth while.”


“I could soon tell how many they would cut,

You let me look them over.”


“You could look.

But don’t expect I’m going to let you have them.”

Pasture they spring in, some in clumps too close

That lop each other of boughs, but not a few

Quite solitary and having equal boughs

All round and round. The latter he nodded “Yes” to,

Or paused to say beneath some lovelier one,

With a buyer’s moderation, “That would do.”

I thought so too, but wasn’t there to say so.

We climbed the pasture on the south, crossed over,

And came down on the north.


He said, “A thousand.”

“A thousand Christmas trees!—at what apiece?”

He felt some need of softening that to me:

“A thousand trees would come to thirty dollars.”


Then I was certain I had never meant

To let him have them. Never show surprise!

But thirty dollars seemed so small beside

The extent of pasture I should strip, three cents

(For that was all they figured out apiece),

Three cents so small beside the dollar friends

I should be writing to within the hour

Would pay in cities for good trees like those,

Regular vestry-trees whole Sunday Schools

Could hang enough on to pick off enough.

A thousand Christmas trees I didn’t know I had!

Worth three cents more to give away than sell,

As may be shown by a simple calculation.

Too bad I couldn’t lay one in a letter.

I can’t help wishing I could send you one,

In wishing you herewith a Merry Christmas.


December 14, 2011

Don DeLillo’s The Angel Esmeralda is a wide-ranging collection. I’m glad I picked it up as my (shamefully) first DeLillo.

The depth of character evoked in the stories is impressive considering the short format…but they’re not over-explained, over-worked. They live, and we know them no better and no worse than we would those people who share our lives.

The protagonist of the final story, especially, is going to be on my mind for a while.