Saying goodbye to Middlesex (for now)

I attacked Middlesex with much gusto earlier this month, having just finished Atonement, a book that has reinstated my faith in general critical opinion.

Two chapters in, I realized that this wasn't going to be Atonement. You see, I had assumed for some bizarre reason that the two books would be alike in some way, a silly mistake stemming from the fact that I keep on grouping these two books together mentally---because I had heard about them around the same time, and purchased them together at the Strand, etc. Obviously I had not digested the back of either book very carefully before I began.

Another chapter in and I realized that I was not prepared for the mental and emotional drain of a great family epic.

It's not that I don't enjoy family epics, but ever after reading One Hundred Years of Solitude and Shame simultaneously, I can't help but feel tired whenever I pick up a book that is blatantly going to surround not only the family, but generations upon generations of that family.

Maybe its so many lives condensed into one book that makes me feel slightly giddy and hysterical. But I need to be mentally prepared for these volumes, preferably reading them in the hazy light of June, with a teddy bear firmly cradled in one arm, and hopefully after having just finished several 'they lived happily ever after' type stories.

Definitely not a book for the dead of winter, when I'm realizing once again that this is not the season for me. An ironic twist, since much of my life has been spent in a place with spectacular, breath-takingly beautiful winters.

So back onto the shelves it will go, this book that I will eventually read, but later when the days are longer.