It’s been exactly a year since I began this blog, and in hindsight, I’ve come a long way. While I’ve learnt a lot, and read a lot, and enjoyed writing about the books I’ve read, I also feel that I’ve lost some of the original inspiration with which I began tuesday in silhouette. For this reason, I dug out Alberto Manguel’s A Reading Diary: A Year of Favourite Books a few days ago, and I’ve been reading Manguel’s journal entries alongside Middlemarch.
What’s funny is that I think I held a false memory in my mind for the past year, because it’s not the way I remember it. Neither is Virginia Woolf’s diary, which I’m also currently re-reading. They’re not less inspirational; merely different. It’s why I enjoy re-reading books – every experience offers something new.
Anyway, in the year ahead, I’ll probably be spending more time away from this blog. Not only because I have less time to read but also so I’ll be able to take the time to consider the value of the books that I read. To contemplate more deeply how literature and life are intertwined. To appreciate how words are wrought into sentences, and sentences into paragraphs, and paragraphs into breathing, living works of art. Blogs are inevitably time-draining, fast-paced things and right now I’m all for slowing down.