The hard journey of reading the books I own

I often have the hardest time reading books. I actually only started to read when I was like, 20 or something. Back in my mitã'i days, I never realy got any access to them. That doesn't mean I don't like to read - I'm always surfing wiki articles and finding weird old websites of people's stories. I also love research articles of things that I probbably didn't even know existed before finding that one loose pdf. But I never really cared for books, and because I didn't care about fictional blorbo book stories I thought that it must mean I don't like reading.
It was only in college that I realised that I liked reading because I actually read a lot about things I care about, and I got access to academic research papers. I got myself a kindle and I downloaded every sorts of research papers into it. Did I read all of it? No, not really. But maybe someday.

Back in college there used to be used book sales and I got myself some of those. Some of them were falling apart. I picked them using the meticulous criteria of "what is both cool and the cheapest", and procedeed to use them as decoration for the next 7 or so years. At one point I had to move out and get rid of everything I had, and I felt bad about just throwing those books away without even knowing what they about you know. So I decided to take those books with me and throw them away only after reading.

The first book of that journey was:

The stranger's child

This was one of the thickest books I had, so I started by it. Its some drama story about familiy dinners and homosexuals. I'm like 70% done with it as I write this, and reading this took me forever, because I both don't care about blorbo stories books and because it is lowkey boring. Its very beautiful though and its interesting to see how every chapter moves forward into another generation of closet or not so closed homos.

What do I even remember about this book? In the first chapter you have some girl named Claire I think? That definitely wasn't it. It doesn't matter much because Claire is a narrative tool to tell the story of George and Cecil, Claire herself doesn't matter much despite being the main character here. Anyway George and Cecil fuck secretly and Claire has a crush in Cecil. Cecil writes poems and dies homosexualy in the war. George ends up marrying a butch woman who pegs the sadness out of him. Claire marries Cecils brother who was an asshole. Eventually Claire meets a twink that makes her have transmasc thoughts. "I wish I was a man so I could fuck yo ass" - Claire Voldemort or whatever her name is. Like she legit dropped that one I'm not making it up.

Anyway eventually they make some big memorial for Cecil with a statue and all. Georgie gets mad because the statue isn't accurate, and honestly the statue probably is accurate but Georgie's mind idolised Cecil so much that he refused reality. Cecil had ugly hands Georgie, get over with it.
I had to read this book with a dictionary by my side because there were so many words for bush and jello molds or whatever. They keep talking about jello molds. And gardens, so many gardens. "Enthriped between the thrwups during the mildewn schwongs, before the yewl laid its first rowp, rested the arch of a iron cladded browg" - A common phrase of this book provoking thrwupped feelings into the reader.

Do I reccomend this book? If you wanna know what it is like to be a high class white gay cis man from england who lives in a fancy garden a century ago, that might be great. Also great if you want to extend your gardening lexicon. I just remembered my book came with commentary scribbles around the page corners and whoever owned it before was impressed at the amount of gay men in it. It also had a mark saying it costed 75p. Maybe I actually bought this in england and I forgot.



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