Winesburg Ohio - Sherwood Anderson
I’ve been reading a lot recently (the kind of all consuming reading that means evenings spent on the sofa, under a blanket, with freezing arms from holding the books up). But I haven’t really had the energy to write about it, or do much else besides read.
It didn’t help that Winesburg Ohio was such an effort either. My boyfriend said I had to read it because it’s the best thing he’d read each year. Short tales about misfits in a town on the edge of everything, it left me feeling horribly sad. The stories too bleak (if perfectly wrought), the people too lonely, too lost to make me take anything from it except the fear of existing in the same suspended state as them.
There was no escapism in it. Perhaps it was too worthy, or perhaps I just prefer a ‘proper’ story.