I am reading such a great novel. It's that smart, rooted, and entertaining novel you can just escape into, and still care, god oh so much, about the characters. I haven't finished it yet. I am savoring it. I am in the home stretch, and all I want to do is read it, but I never want it to end. Yes, it is that novel.
I picked it up because I saw an indiwire post that it's slated to be made into a movie, and it looked super interesting to me. A story of three generations of women who are all obsessed, in one way or another, with the movies. One goes to see movies all the time, her daughter moves (from Tulsa) to Hollywood and ends up playing lots of small parts in blaxploitation films in the 70s, and her daughter ... well, I haven't finished yet, but I think she wants to be a director. Right up my alley. And to boot, the author Martha Southgate is a friend/acquaintance of mine, and now I am going to go out and find everything else she has written.
But oh, that wonderful feeling of sinking into a great novel. Shutting out the subway. Distracting myself from the wait for the dentist. Reading myself to sleep. And now, the devastating push-pull of wanting to dive in and read to the end, and wanting to stretch it out as long as possible.