Life Less Literary

I went to a reading group last night - always wondered what one would be like, I was (as with most new ventures) very nervous about it. Imagined something slightly frighteningly intellectual, thought that I would probably just sit on the edge listening to everyone’s opinions, and no doubt learning lots about the book (which, by the way, was Brick Lane - an excellent read, if I had to sum it up in one word I’d say it’s very, very “human”).

Anyway, it wasn’t like that at all. In fact, rather than sitting back listening, I think I spoke more than anyone else there (I think they were exited to have a new member). And rather than getting any very deep insights into the book, most of the comments were along the lines of “I liked this bit. I didn’t like that bit. I think the book gives you a real insight into the immigrant communities.”

So I missed out on a heavy intellectually stimulating night, but got a heavy ego-stimulating one instead. It was all quite fun, and I think I’ll be going again. At the end, they asked what books I like reading - such a hard question. I raved briefly about Cloud Atlas, and then mentioned that I’ve just picked up some Katherine Mansfield. They got quite excited and proposed that they read Katherine Mansfield on our next free date (which I think will be in December).