I haven’t started reading anything new this past weekend because I felt like I needed something to match my latest book, and I’m not sure what that would be. I’ve got what is called a book hangover. I borrowed Half a Yellow Sun by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie from my boss on Monday and finished it Friday morning. I even decided it was worth being a bit late to work to finish the book before I started, because waiting nine hours to read the ending wasn’t an option.
I haven’t got the perfect match for Half a Yellow Sun on my Book Challenge list, but I think I’ll put it under #19: A book based on a true story. Now the story itself might not be true, but there is truth in it, and it is about the Biafra War, which has happened, so a little loosely I’d say the book is based on a true story. Whatever, the category isn’t overly important. What is important is that I once again was sucked into Adichie’s Africa, and that I learned something new about a world that I knew nothing about. I really enjoyed this book and would love to read more from Adichie.
What I also once again discovered when I finished this book, was the feeling I get when I’m not reading. It’s like my world doesn’t have meaning when I don’t have a parallel universe to spend time in. I’ve spent the weekend feeling lost and a bit depressed, and it’s not the first time, because this happens every time I don’t have a book to read. I just sit there and stare and can’t seem to manage doing anything. (but I don’t mean that my life is meaningless, I do like it just the way it is, I just need the extra flavor which is books)
A couple of months back I read The White Stone by Gunnel Linde (#37: A book with a color in the title) to my son. Although I was very familiar with the story, I hadn’t read the book before. I saw the TV-series, which aired for the first time in 1973 (before I was born) and then again sometime in the 80’s, and my parents even took me to see the place where it was filmed. Since then white stones have had a bit of a magical aura, and searching for the perfect one has been part of my childhood, as it has to many kids in Sweden, I think.
I wasn’t sure the book would hold up, it was published in 1964 and is a story about two kids in the 1930’s. The language was a bit old which meant I had to explain some words and events to my son, who is six years old, but that didn’t take away from the story, and in the end he said he’d give it five stars out of five, because it was exciting and funny. If I had read the book for me, it wouldn’t get a five star-rating, but I really enjoyed sharing the experience with my son. We read it while the two of us were in Las Palmas on vacation, and I hope my husband will read it to my daughter when they go to Crete next week, then we could show them the TV-series this summer, and give them a little childhood magic…