![]() ![]() Knowing I had tried – and failed – to read it on a couple of previous occasions, but also aware that it was globally adored by critics and readers alike, I blocked out a solid two hours that very afternoon, turned my phone off and set about reading Betty Smith’s best loved book. ![]() ![]() Calculating that if I even wanted to make a slight dent in them that I would have to read at least 100 pages a day before the year was out, I scanned my new to-be-read pile, and decided to begin with A Tree Grows in Brooklyn. After a swift perusal of my bookcases to find as many of the fifteen as I could, I soon after discovered that a handful of them were rather substantial in size: with Don Quixote, Middlesex, The Hearts Invisible Furies and The Golden Notebook all topping 500 pages. Given that we were a week or so into November at the time, I read through the list, and saw – with some horror – that of the twenty books, I had read just five. A week or so ago, I came across a list of twenty books I had promised myself I would read by the end of 2021. ![]()
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