Between the two of us, my husband and I have the rough equivalent of one PhD in English. And for two people with one PhD, we seem to have read a lot less than we should have, which becomes depressingly apparent when we interact with smarty-brains and booky-books:
Smart guy: I love Evelyn Waugh!
Me: Yes! He’s great. *Frantically tries to remember the ONE Evelyn Waugh book I’ve read - about a kid - and a kid who died - and then there was another kid.*
Smart guy: You can’t beat Graham Greene for description, though.
Me: Oh, look! I’m wearing mismatched socks.
In an effort to feel markedly less idiotic, we have decided to tackle the Time magazine 100 Best All-Time Novels, which is a little misleading, since the list actually starts in 1923.
What we’re definitely not doing, however, is reading 100 novels in 100 days, or cooking the novels for Meryl Streep for dinner, or finishing this project in much less than five years. Hell, I’m going to have to drink whiskey just to get through Two Towers, so we might need six.
When it’s all over, however, we will feel very smart and very tired and really scared, because our son will practically be driving. We’re starting with _A Passage to India_, which I last read in 1983.
Wish us luck!
