After an extended (unexcused) absence, I return to word-smithery today, announcing my coming journey into the world of John Galt. This is a journey I’ve diligently eschewed for nearly 50 years, and I fix the blame squarely on the shoulders of my younger daughter and another dear friend, both of whom recently asked if I had ever read Atlas Shrugged.
Through the years, others have asked me that question. I’ve always been comfortable responding that the wordy tome (almost 1200 pages!) holds no interest for me. Of late, however, a contrary argument waged in my brain: It’s not fair to comment when you haven’t read the book! So I succumbed at long last — plunking down cash at the Amazon portal. The book (weighing in at 4 pounds, per the shipping label) arrived on Tuesday.
No, I didn’t jump right in; I’m currently reading (usually at bedtime until I nod off) a Cordelia Gray mystery (author is P. D. James). Given my general lack of reading time, even this book — a veritable pygmy tipping the scales under 450 pages — seems a tad long, but that’s a complaint for another day. Continue reading “The Journey Begins . . .”