Opening the blog this morning, I was surprised to see that I haven't written anything since Tuesday. It's not as if I have been too busy; in fact, busyness might be a good reason for not writing. Perhaps I'm just slack. Of course, I could also claim that I'm getting old and my memory is failing.
I have noticed another deterioration in my faculties. I have always been a great reader, preferring complex books with a strong plot. With the invention of ebooks, I had access to literally millions of the best books ever written. Most of the time I would have a couple of books on the go, and they were often detailed crime novels. But no longer. Nowadays, I find my mind wandering while I am reading and, if I put the book down, I can't pick up the story as readily as I used to. To cope, I turned to short stories, but it's not the same.
Yesterday, I decided to broaden my choice of subject matter and turned to A Man Called Ove, a translation from Swedish and it's been made into a film starring Tom Hanks. Of course, the Americans had to change the name to A Man Called Olaf, to carer for the narrow-minded yanks who can't see beyond their own narrow prejudices.
The book is a delight. I started it yesterday, read a bit more in bed last night, and picked it up again this morning with no problem. Maybe my memory has not held on to all of the plot details but it doesn't matter; I'm enjoying it for the descriptions of the great characters and I don't have to hold on to small details to help me solve a murder.
I also have a copy of the movie and am tossing up whether I should watch it or not. Seeing how the Americans have hacked it about might spoil it for me entirely. Who knows?
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