Late late spring in Fialta

I am generally a disciplined reader. I read one book at a time. At most: two. I start and finish, start and finish. The exceptional time of year is now — late May, early June. The end-of-summer deadlines don’t press quite yet (after July 4 they do and will). I am reaching for the shelf of books that piled up over the year, with more enthusiasm about reading than I ever otherwise feel. It’s why I got into the work I’m in. This year I’ve gone especially wild. I am reading, in mostly random rotation, all these now:

- Vladimir Nabokov’s 1936 story, “Spring in Fialta”
- Vertov from Z to A eds. Ahwesh & Sanborn
- Joyce Carol Oates’ newest collection of stories, Dear Husband,
- Wallace Stevens across the Atlantic
- Jeff Toobin’s The Nine, gearing up for the Supreme Court nomination hearings
- David Milch’s Stories of the Black Hills
- Walter Kirn’s anti-meritocracy memoir
- Norman Mailer’s huge Hitler/devil novel, The Castle in the Forest