One of my favorite things from childhood summers was the public library's summer reading program. You'd get a blank list at the beginning of the summer and fill it out as you read books. When you read the requisite number, you turned in your list for an almost completely useless coupon book. I was a big reader back in those days - time not spent at day camp or at the pool was spent reading. And with 100 pages counting as a 'book,' I could read
Harry Potter and fill in multiple slots on my list. The coupons were rarely useful, but I got a lot of joy out of seeing how quickly I could complete my list (and sometimes how many lists I could fill out over the course of a summer). Unfortunately there's no equivalent for adults, such that I can tell, but I'm trying to get the same joy out of reading this summer when I have the time.
I'm not usually one of those people who reads the hot book recommended in magazines, but recently something caught my eye. I was intrigued by
The Innocents by Francesca Segal because of its modern retelling of Edith Wharton's
The Age of Innocence. Here's a little back-story:
In my senior year of high school my English teacher gave us a choice of five books to read - we would list them in preference order and he would assign us to groups. My top choice was Wharton's
The House of Mirth, drawn in by the promise of old New York society-based fiction. Instead, I got assigned Thomas Friedman's
The Lexus and the Olive Tree (even though there was someone in the
House of Mirth group who didn't want to read it. Obviously I'm still outraged by this injustice) - not a bad book, but nonfiction about globalization doesn't quite equal a page turner for me. Last summer when I was in New York, I decided to actually give Wharton a go by snatching up The Age of Innocence on a trip home. I spent afternoons reading in Washington Square Park, but it never got finished, put aside for other pursuits, like reading
Helter Skelter (more on my fascination with true crime stories later). This summer I hoped that
The Innocents would pull me in and rekindle my interest in finishing the original.
Luckily, it did just that. I finished it this weekend while lying on my stomach on a beach towel in Washington Square Park (back to old haunts) and I can say that it sufficiently whetted my appetite for the original tome. The London-set drama made me yearn to read the period New York version to recognize the streets I walk daily among the pages. I need to know how the updated version compares to Wharton's. I feel the same kind of urgency that I did all those summers ago filling out my reading list - now that I've finished one book, I just can't wait to pick up another.