My girlfriend is a reader. I mean a READER!
One of the most beautiful things about her is how unsettled she becomes when she finishes a book and does not have another on hand to start, immediately.
I think for all the bullshit you hear about men and their big brains, women read more (the sports pages don't count gentlemen). The problem with the imbalance may have to do with what they read.
My girlfriend loves book's with double nouns in the title, or books that animate the inanimate, then give said inanimate object emotion.
The Grass, no thanks.
The Crying Grass, Yes Please!
Solitude, no thanks.
The Lonely Solitude, Yes Please!
The Rock, no thanks.
The Summer of the Worried Rock, Yes Please and is there a sequel?
The Bully, straight to the clearance bin.
The Linen Bully, possible midnight book launch.
Anyway, you get the point. I usually have her read me the first sentence in each of her books. We like to compare and contrast, or repel and lambaste, depending on how full of themselves the author chooses to reveal.
However there is one thing I must admit about this strange pattern of reading she has. She usually wins our Scrabble games. So while I have found myself to be strictly a fan of non-fiction thus far, perhaps I will start sneaking peaks at that copy of The Knuckle Wedding.
It couldn't hurt.
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