Sunday, January 08, 2006

Orhan Pamuk's Snow

Yesterday I started Orhan Pamuk's Snow as I rode in an old Georgian minibus into the mountains to ski--an obvious choice for reading en route to a day centered around the titular substance.

The ride was very bumpy, but I could read fine. Whenever I came to a Turkish name, though, I had to stop and make out each individual letter. Which means that I had been taking in whole words at a time, and not able to see the actual letters clearly--strange, because once knowing a word, I could see each letter as clear as day.

I went back over the last few pages I had been reading, and of course the same had been true for the overall story. I hadn't been taking in each sentence, just soaking up the feeling of the prose and processing the periodic clear images and events.

By the way, I'm not finding it very good.

Alice, how many pages of a book do you make yourself read before you are allowed to abandon it?

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