During summer especially, I thirst for literature. For as long as I can remember, I've slept with a book on my nightstand, or opened on my chest. I buy purses that are large enough to carry even Atlas Shrugged, so I'm prepared for waiting in a doctor's office or on line at the grocery. The weight of books is a consideration for my checked baggage when I travel. I even have nightmares about not reading the great works of literature in my lifetime.
But the problem with reading great literature is this: What next?
I'm about seventy-five pages shy of finishing The Lacuna, a book that has consumed my time and my thoughts. I've hardly put the book down in days, but now I slow my pace. Once I finish reading this novel, what can I read next that won't be a disappointment?
After I finished reading East of Eden, I asked friends for suggestions. Forgetting my distaste for postmodern literature, I took a friend's suggestion to read DeLillo's Mao II—a good book, but not on the same shelf as Eden.
After I finished reading A Prayer for Owen Meany, I contemplated beginning the novel again immediately, but instead reread Great Expectations—the novels are similar in their ambition. I knew Dickens wouldn't starve me after Irving's feast.
Ironically, with so many works of literature I'm eager to read in my lifetime, I find myself unable to find titles to satisfy me now, the craving I have today. Do I begin something new, take a risk on a book that may be bland? Or do I cleanse my palate with an old favorite?
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