Wuthering Heights is such a depressing novel, I wonder why I keep rereading. Of course it will be compulsory on my reading list, so it doesn’t hurt to get reacquainted with it. It’s still the only Brontë novel I like (neither Jane Eyre or Agnes Grey, et al do move me). I used to consider the possibility of Joaquin Phoenix and Kate Winslet reteaming for a film (or TV) adaptation of it – but I suppose they’re too old. I’m still not sure that the “current” version ever will be made. I’ve lazily reached an impasse with Wicked: The Life & Times of the Wicked Witch of the East. I should restart it soon, Jose says it’s a blast (as have many others). It doesn’t help that I’m being distracted by David Sedaris’ hilarious Me Talk Pretty One Day (which reinforces the possible fact that gay writers are funnier than us straight folks). Honestly, though, Sedaris may be one of the best nonfiction writers ever – although nonfiction sounds like the wrong word to describe something so irreverent.
(I should be blogging more.)
What have you been reading lately?
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