I've been having trouble reading books lately. The difficulty isn't so much with the reading part, it's the concentration part. I have at least a dozen books in my queue, but I can't seem to finish any of them. It's a bit disconcerning, considering I used to read several books a week. Reading was my thing; now, it seems like I can't even get through a magazine in one sitting.
Less than a week ago, I bought Juliet, Naked by Nick Hornby on a bargain table for $5. I'd been wanting to read it for a while, and I wasn't disappointed. The book was straight-foward and well-written; the important part is the story and Hornby doesn't beat around the bush or withhold details from his reader. I loved the English seaside past-its-prime town where two of the three main characters live, a place much like my own hometown which has seen better days but used to be something great. In a way, Hornby's characters are like that, too; they are past their primes and trying to figure out if they are destined to be in fledging relationships for the rest of their lives or if they can salvage something special for themselves in some way. Music is important to Hornby and Juliet, Naked revolves around it, a melody always playing in the background. The story itself is quirky but true, and when the book ends, there is no clear-cut conclusion, which just adds to the realistic messiness splayed across the pages.
Once I started, I couldn't put this book down. When I read the last page this morning, I closed it gently and smiled. I'm back on track, or so it seems, thanks to Juliet, Naked.
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