Like a sponge

I have completely gotten absorbed in books this past week. First it was the Steven King Dark Tower series, which I kept trying to read while getting ready for work and then realizing I was running late. And this morning I didn't feel like getting out of bed, so I picked up The Mermaid Chair by Susan Monk Kidd. The next thing I knew it was after noon. But I think that says something about the strength of her writing. The Secret Life of Bees was really wonderful, and though I couldn't tell you exactly what the plot was about anymore, I remember that same strong voice in her work. Maybe it's silly to say this, since I've never been in a relationship, but the stuff about choosing love, and continuing to choose it a million little times every day, as well as the struggle between spiritual and earthly love really made sense to me. I guess it is always hardest to become alive to yourself, independently of any other person, while strongly needing that connection to another person. Well, here's hoping everything works out at the right time in my life.

Recently read: Magic Street, by Orson Scott Card. This book was pretty good, but there was a strange tension in it which is probably explained by the same impulse that made me wonder "are there any black Mormons?" I know it's horrible to so strongly identify an author with any aspect of his or her identity, but ever since reading his Folk of the Fringe short story collection, I just can't get that connection out of my head. And so for all the characters to be black...well, it didn't feel quite natural, I guess. At least the author addressed that himself in the afterword.