I am sorry to say that I have given up my Eudora Welty reading for this 100th birthday year. I tried. I tried a novel. I tried many short stories. And they didn't keep my interest. I didn't care about the characters or what happened to them. And that word characters is key. They seemed like characters in a story instead of real people, people I could connect with, people I was absorbed with. I am regretful. I was so excited about this little reading venture. But it is what it is. Some people love Virginia Woolf and others don't. Some love Ernest Hemingway and others don't. Some think The Great Gatsby one of the greatest books of all time and others can't get through it. In the book Light on Snow, one of Anita Shreve's characters says,
I pick up a book I've been reading off and on, more off than on, a sign that I'll probably abandon it soon.
Well, that's the way it has been these past few days for me with Eudora. I still have fond memories of the woman herself on the Dick Cavett show, but her writing, her subject matter is just not for me.