Books aren't meant to be read in tiny pigeon pecks. They should be devoured in enormous hungry chunks. Immerse. Imagine. Fall. Consume. Books are written to be read. Authors write for you. So read. I'm working through my library of classics and moderns and a few randoms one book at a time... But always in great hungry chunks...
One handbag. One pram. One baby. One moment of madness. Wilde's play of lost identity, silliness, engagements, mistaken (or rather mis-represented) identities... Earnest? Lies! Funny tale of friends up to mischief which winds up into the tightest tales then settles into a most satisfactory conclusion. V funny.
