The university one:
The Fairytale Club. Adult women studying ethnology, theology, languages and political science, among other things, gathered to read classic children's stories out loud and knit. (I refused to knit.) It was The Wind in the Willows, the wonderful Moomin books and other educational ones.
The Irish one:
The "Book" Club (sarcasm audible in the name). Each member wandered down to the pub to have a quiet drink while reading their book in peaceful solitude. Inevitably, we ran into each other and discussed the state of the world while spilling drinks on our unopened books.
The yet-to-be-defined one:
The Book Opinionateds (strange ungrammatical name intentional and supposedly witty). A bunch of elderly ladies, a few young women with a Master's in literature, and two men - of which one is a Mexican bohemian. I joined the club today and was thrown into the middle of a heated debate about an Icelandic novel I hadn't read (and by the sound of it, wouldn't want to read). A horse-breeding lady claimed that the characters strongly reminded her of her Icelandic ponies. My music teacher in primary school (now retired) loved the book (I remember her having a strange taste in music, too). One of the literature grads was opinionated indeed and kept throwing in references to literary theory to remind us amateurs of her expertise. (Next time I'll show her she's not the only Finn who can quote Paradise Lost.) (I might have to brush up on some quotes first, though.) The non-Mexican, non-bohemian man wanted us to read poetry later in the autumn, and my inward groan was almost audible.
I loved it. Whyever did I allow years to go by without the pleasure of a real book club? Afterwards, I laid in a straight course for the library.
No comments:
Post a Comment