I don’t have a lot of time. I can give a poem a couple of lines, a short story a paragraph, and a novel a few pages, then if I can stop reading without a sense of loss, I do, and I go on to something else.
– Flannery O’Connor
One wonders when in her life O'Connor made this statement. It certainly echoes my own experience these days. And, I'm wondering if being 72 is the reason for my impatience with average literature. I am constantly looking for plots, dialogue, settings that resonate in some deeper fashion. I want my literature not only to entertain, but also to offer seminal teachings.
I am a curious soul; I have a desire for new adventures, new environments, new characters. But, I am fussy about the manner in which they are introduced. Since I probably only have another ten years of brain power with which to satisfy my curiosity, I am a tad demanding. Is it an aspect of being old or of having read it all (indeed, I have not)? Or am I just eager to sample the very best in the small amount of time that remains in my reading life?