The schedule for a full-time English & American Literature MA at Kent is two modules of classes in the first and second terms, and a dissertation in the third term. Us part-time students–of which there don’t appear to be that many–take one module in the first term, one in the second… and then repeat in the second year, with the dissertation coming in the third term of year two. What this translates to is that when I handed in my final piece of first-year coursework in May, I did it knowing that I didn’t have another class to prepare for or essay to write until September.

Now I don’t want to be misunderstood here; I’ve pretty much loved every moment of the first year working towards my MA. The reading, research, the discussion and the writing all feels like exactly what I want to be doing. And the authors I’ve studied–Hemingway, Faulkner, Conrad, Fitzgerald, Ondaatje etc.–have been almost uniformly brilliant and engaging, or failing that excellent catalysts for conversation.

But nevertheless, as I filed that essay I was suddenly overwhelmed by a single, huge revelation: I’m free to read whatever I want for the next three months.

I was flooded with all of these ideas about what I was going to read over summer. I was going to indulge in some real genre fiction devoid of literary ambition; I was going to read through all seven volumes of Stephen King’s Dark Tower series; I was going to finally get around to some of the biographies and non-fiction books I’d heard about on NPR and then bought and shelved; I was going to read all of Shakespeare!

I’ve written before about my problems with literary fidelity [link], and my tendency to leave books unfinished, but seven weeks or so since I handed in that essay I feel like I’ve reached a new low. Here’s what I’ve managed so far (in alphabetical order):

Atkinson, Kate. Started Early, Took My Dog – about half read, enjoyable crime procedural.

DeLillo, Don. Point Omega – at a slim 128 pages, the only book I’ve finished since May.

Crowley, Roger. Constantinople – only downloaded the first couple of chapters of this guide to the history of one of the world’s great cities and really enjoyed it; didn’t purchase the rest because I already had so much to read. I hope to complete it before Assassin’s Creed: Revelations releases in November.

Egan, Jennifer. A Visit from the Goon Squad – sounded like one of the most interesting entries on the Orange shortlist; first ~20% proved to be a bit of a disappointment.

Eggers, Dave. What is the What – I’m an appreciator of Eggers, and I’d previously owned a copy of this in hardback that I never got around to. First ~50 pages are engaging and brilliantly written, plus it’s unlike anything else I’ve read. Determined to go back to it before summer’s through.

Johnson, Samuel. ‘Preface to Shakespeare’ – completed this too and found it surprising and enlightening on the history of Shakespeare’s editors.

King, Stephen. The Gunslinger – very nearly finished this for a third time, with the intention of carrying on to the rest of the Dark Tower books. Ran out of steam for reasons unknown.

Mieville, China. The City & The City – my most recent acquisition on recommendation from a friend tired of hearing me talk about how I can’t finish a book. At 500 pages I don’t know why he thought it would make a good antidote, but I’ve been meaning to read Mieville for a while and the first 20% has been solid.

Ondaatje, Michael. The English Patient – having adored Ondaatje’s In The Skin of a Lion, I had high hopes that this would be one I would have no problem completing. Though the writing is just as masterful the pace is somewhat different, and–judging from the first half–the humour is somewhat lacking. I’ll go back to it for sure.

Shteyngart, Gary. Super Sad True Love Story - A pick-up from an interview I heard with Shteyngart on NPR’s Fresh Air last summer, the first half has been enjoyable but it suffers from being written in a style comparable to but not on par with Sam Lipsyte.

~

What is the cause of this inability to commit to one text long enough to see it through? Can I not just knuckle down and force myself to pack just one book for the train until I’ve read every last page? I know that when I reach work tomorrow there will be a copy of Ofelia Hunt’s debut novel Today & Tomorrow waiting on my desk, and yet I couldn’t resist downloading a new book to my Kindle just now: Endgame, Frank Brady’s new biography of Bobby Fischer. Being charitable all this might be seen as indicative of an omnivorous reading habit; looked at pessimistically it’s probably the result of an internet-induced reduction in attention span. The truth is probably somewhere in between.

Photo by Flickr user Ninja M.