Ssshhh

Next Monday is our book club gathering and I must confess that I have not (nor will I) read our selection in time for the meeting. Only 88 pages into the total of 464 pages of agony in Sir Walter Scott's Ivanhoe, I have thrown in the towel, defeated. Actually, a healthier description is to say that I choose not to finish the book because my time is better spent in other endeavors (like sleeping, dreaming, or exercising).

The classics from centuries past are just not my thing. The verbosity, long paragraphs, and the unfamiliar language of the day sets my brain on edge. I remember several years ago Laura and I read Wuthering Heights together, an adventure in literary torture. I read the entire book to her aloud because she was struggling with the old English language and comprehension of plot line. Struggle we did through all those hundreds of pages. I'm ashamed to admit it, but these books, although pure beauty to many, are drudgery to me.

Ivanhoe, that bitter pill, will not get read the "natural way". I must confess that I've logged into www.pinkmonkey.com (a site Chris and Laura introduced me to and which they used frequently; apparently quite popular with the high school and college crowd). Akin to well known Cliff Notes, this site will break it all down in language I can understand and in a fraction of the time it would take to plod through 44 chapters. I won't walk into book club cold; at least I'll be able to listen to the conversation and perhaps learn why this book is so beloved by those with passion and verve for the classics.