I picked up Nineteen Eighty-four (not 1984: that is not what the author titled his work) over the weekend and polished it off in two days. Just couldn't put it down. It has always been one of my favorites, but it's been twenty-five years or so since I'd read it.
Wow, it's still masterful. Reminds me of Steinbeck's novellas: he doesn't waste words. Everything that you read is essential to the story itself or to develop mood, foreshadow, etc. He's not James Michener. I caught myself reading for technical appreciation as much as recreation: an occupational hazard, I guess, but it didn't decrease my enjoyment one bit; as a matter of fact, I think I appreciated it all the more because of my technical viewpoint.
I don't know why it took me so long to pick it up again. All I can do is to whine "so many books, so little time." My "Want to Read" list grows, and I really only nibble at grain in the silo. I should live so long!
Sometimes kids are sweet, kind, considerate and appreciative. Then there are the other 179 school days to consider.
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