Books in My Blood
I've been reading forever. Family lore has it that I was reading before I was walking, although that is usually attributed more to my laziness than to some sort of intellectual impetus. Whatever the truth, I have been a reader since my earliest days.
It's little surprise, then, that books are simply in my blood. The words and visions of authors reached me in ways that few people in the real world could, and left their imprint on my psyche. I'm not going to pass judgement on the quality of the changes these words wrought on me; we become who we are through many choices and experiences.
In the course of these essays I will introduce you to some books which worked their way into me and hit me hard enough to leave a mark. I first encountered them at various stages of my life, from childhood to what passes for adulthood, but all of them I've revisited from time to time. These titles shaped who I was, and who I am, and are probably still working their changes on me in ways I can't even see. They are in my blood.
Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead
[more to come, someday]
