reading a blue streak

i had a friend comment "and what have you learned?" when i said i have been reading like crazy. i had no answer, not because i have learned nothing, but more, where to begin? it's not a list that can be numbered on a page; it is subtle changes of mind, and maybe even astonishing discoveries that can be discussed only with someone else who has read the same book, too. often, it's an unspeakable moving of the heart, and a sadness when the book is done, as if the characters were real and have moved away and i will see them no more. i feel that way now. i just finished, today, at 2:36pm (to which i had to hurry and change and go walk fast to pick francis up from school) "jane eyre" by charlotte bronte. oh. my. goodness. how have i never read this before? how have i managed to live 34 years and not even know the gist of the story? i knew absolutely nothing about it, other than it was a classic, and written and published at the same time as her sister emily's novel "wuthering heights". (which i read for the first time last summer.) that alone was curiosity enough for me to see how one sister's story would vary from the other's. i was in for a surprise! it continually amazes me how a story written in 1847 can be so pertinent today. it was an incredibly gripping and moving story, and such that i can't get it out of my head.
right before that i read (and by reading, i mean, all day, all night, whenever i can get my hands on it, for i am terrible at functioning in any other capacity when i am reading a good book; i can do nothing else...) "till we have faces";it was a re-read for me, and as greg had picked it up for bus reading, when he left it behind i thought i'd read it again and catch up to him so we could discuss it after. well i passed him and finished, but i haven't read this book since i was younger and single, and it struck me completely different reading it as a mother and a wife. themes of sacrifice and selfishness hit you differently when you are sharing your life with someone else, and not just living unto yourself. it is a greek myth, the story of cupid and pysche, retold by that excellent storyteller, c.s.lewis. i count it as one of my most favorites...
getting into more greek myths retold, i read "a wonder book for girls and boys" by nathaniel hawthorne, published in 1893, and now i have been reading them to francis, who really likes them too. we have much to talk about afterwords, especially since in so many of the stories can be found parellels in the bible...
somehow i must be stuck in a rut in the 1800's, because before that book, i read "sense and sensibility", and now, we are also reading, together, sherlock holmes (unabridged, original text, i know, i'm such a snob) and francis is reading "tom sawyer" for his afterschool reading homework.(and before that,i had re-read "sounder" and "old yeller" to see if they would be ok for francis, but i think i'll wait til he's older. )
enough of this dreary listing...
off i go...
to ponder more of jane tonight...

(and enjoying ripe itanlian plums, and pears, from our neighbors trees, which he kindly lets us pick from; we pick a handful daily when we come inside, and eat them fresh from the tree! oh yum!)