Coronavirus Diary: Reading in a Pandemic

A lot of people have been in "comfort food" reading mode since the pandemic started, and I can't blame them. On the TV front, I've rewatched COMMUNITY already, as well as -- God help me -- COUGAR TOWN. Which is bad. Really bad. And yet.

On the book front, though, it's a different story. I feel like, suddenly, I am running out of reading time and so I am trying to cram in every great book I've ever wanted to read. I don't have patience for the sci-fi pulp I was reading as recently as January. I want books I suspect will enrich me, challenge me, or teach me something. And I panic at the thought of all the reading I want to do that is, as yet -- and might well forever be -- unfinished.

Right now, I am juggling four books -- trying to get a chapter a day or more out of each.

LETTERS FROM A STOIC, by Seneca

MOBY DICK, by Herman Melville

THE REACTIONARY MIND, by Corey Robin

FREDERICK DOUGLASS: PROPHET OF FREEDOM by David Blight.

I've also, in the last few months, read and finished nonfiction books about Kurt Vonnegut's writing philosophy, American history, Fred Phelps' family, homebuilding and, well, THE JORDAN RULES. (My bit of comfort reading, perhaps.) I've also read Toni Morrison's BELOVED. When I finish MOBY DICK, I hope to turn to THE TIN DRUM, by Gunter Grass.

I do wonder from time to time what the purpose of all this is: If it is true that time is running short, what's the point? All the reading I have done will die with me, right? I can only hope that some of what I am absorbing translates into me writing better, more thoughtfully, and with more perspectives and more information in mind. And hopefully, too, it translates into me acting in real life with some greater empathy and wisdom. 

But who really knows? All I know is that I am a reader. Or, at least, I want to be a reader, because the people I want to be like are readers. I guess that will have to be good enough.