When Reading a book becomes more of an accomplishment than writing one…

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Well, it’s official. I can read. I finished George Orwell’s masterpiece, 1984, yesterday. It was an amazingly prescient book, and I’m not sure that certain politicians and wealthy political string-pullers didn’t use it as a template.

Reading it electronically, which I thought might feel odd given the age of the book, wasn’t strange at all, which either speaks to the adjustment to technology or the idea of reader experience put into the ereader itself. Either way, I think anything can be read electronically now. The virtual gates have been lowered.

My next book is a paperback, I’ve had it for ages, and just haven’t gotten to read it, as excited as I was about it when it came out. So we’ll see how the experience differs. I suspect more arm fatigue with the paperback, but we’ll see.

I’m thinking of doing full reviews of the books, and I’ll keep you posted on that front. But it’s nice to know that the reader in you never goes away, no matter how neglected she might be.

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