Many, many years ago I was into Thomas Hardy. I read a few of his books and then had to stop because he is so darn depressing I just couldn’t take it. Is it just me, or is he one of the darkest writers out there? Or did I not read enough of his books to get to the one that does not have a tragic ending? I didn’t read Tess of D’Uberville and I really have not wanted to. Dark, dark, dark.
I downloaded a new book to my iPad by a current author who I quite like. I started reading and skipping around the book, like I do, and I quickly discovered much to my dismay that this book will be much more meaningful to me if I first read Hardy’s Tess. Oh no! So, I downloaded Tess. Now I just have to read it. Part of me feels so trepidatious, am I up to Hardy these days? Another part of me is a little happy that I’m being pushed into this position. I haven’t stretched myself as far as fiction is concerned in a long time. I also haven’t read anything phenomenal in a long time. Why am I feeling so reluctant to start this book? Also, is it weird that the very thought of reading a certain book is affecting me like this? I mean, I’m not even reading it yet. There was a time when no book intimidated me. Why this change? I like to think it’s because after all these years of reading I’m aware of the constraints of time (so many books, so little time) and have become more selective in what I read but I know that’s not true with all of the junk I’ve been reading lately.
I want to read books of great beauty and if I can’t do that I want something light and breezy. Please tell me that there is great beauty in Tess because I know that it won’t be breezy.