The Summer Books
by Will Bailey
I need help. “No s**t,” you’re probably thinking, but since this is a family blog, you say something like “No stick” or “No stupid” à la the leading mean in an action movie censored for daytime television. To which I respond, “Forget you! Are you going to help me or not you forking assistant?!” To which you respond, “Calm down you sod head! Don’t be such a matter shocker.” Then something explodes and we cut to commercial (paper towels and medication that may cause loss of eyesight and sudden death). But seriously, I need help putting together a summer reading list. The problem is that I’ve been slogging through The Brothers Karamazov for the past three months, which doesn’t exactly Make Reading Fun. Think about it: have you ever seen an advertisement championing the joys of reading by showing a group of children crowded around a dusty, forty-five pound edition of The Brothers Karamazov and reading one of several passages in which the characters discuss the apparent meaningless of life? “Reading can transport you to 19th century Russia, where life is misery and everybody has five different names!” I guess what I’m trying to say is that I need some palate cleansers to get me excited about reading again. Because right now cracking open my book is like heading to the salt mines for another day of hard labor. Also, my Foreman, Dostoevsky, is way more articulate than me, can read in Russian, French, English and German and is dead. What a fudging acrobat!