If you’re yearning for some great non-fiction, check out Boomerang’s latest promotion. We’re giving away a pack of new releases, including Kay Saunder’s Notorious Australian Women, a thrilling compendium of female derring-do replete with First Fleeters, courtesans, rebels and revolutionaries. If you’re looking for something more contemporary you can check out Hotel Kerobokan, the inside story of Bali’s most notorious jail. Or you can find out exactly what makes for a Happy Economist. (The answer to that one isn’t, surprisingly enough, more money. We were surprised too.)
If you are wondering if you really have a chance of winning, you at least have one fewer competitor to worry about; I won’t be entering the competition or reading any non-fiction soon. I’m off the big brain books – no new non-fiction for me this week. This doesn’t mean that I have given up on my area of choice, or decided to quit the pop-psychology for Lent. I am not sidestepping into reading only novels or flirting with reviewing Paranormal Romance, I’m just not interested right now in reading anything that challenges my brain, be that fiction or non-fiction alike.
The reason for both the recent radio silence on this blog and the sudden non-interest in new books is pretty simple – I am, as we say in Ireland, as sick a small hospital. I have some sort of coldy-fluey-sinusey-evildeathbug thing that has turned my brain to mush and my body into an immobile sack of aches. If I was a horse, they would have shot me. I’m as sick as a dog and about as appealing generally as Shane McGowan’s teeth. I am a complaint wrapped in a misery inside an influenza, and all of them baying for more Lemsip and something to read that doesn’t require more than one brain cell to appreciate.
You get the picture.
There are those who bear their illness well and stoically. They muster up their positive face, grab that glass half full of electrolytes and use the whole being undead thing as a chance to catch up on their reading, clean out their cupboard and learn Spanish, Mandarin and Turkish while they have a few moments to spare.
I am not one of those people. I’m one of the ones who like to fill that half empty glass with a hot toddy and settle in to read an favourite old book. There are times when I want to be stimulated and fascinated by amazing facts, but this is not one of them.
Great hot piles of comfort food and comfort reading, that’s what I am after. I’m rereading all my Terry Pratchett’s and Douglas Adam’s and I feel no guilt whatsoever about all those shiny new titles I could be perusing instead. They’ll wait. Right now, when I feel this low, I love the company of some of my best-loved books. You know, the ones that are so well-thumbed the pages are loose. I’ve read them so often I barely need to follow the words to know the story.
If anyone wants me, I’ll be curled up with a good book. How about you?