The Man Who Was Thursday

If you know me, you know I enjoy reading and carry a book with me pretty much everywhere. I am leery of electronic reading devices like the Kindle and iPad, yet still would love to own one! How cool would that be? A tablet with the ability to browse websites, shop, email, read blogs, read books, create things, etc. I could put a dozen or more books on it and carry it with me everywhere.

Yet, there are a few things I wouldn't be able to do with it. I'd never be able to leave it alone, like at a restaurant to "save" my place at the table while I go refill my soda cup. I'd not feel comfortable taking it to the beach, or the park, or around water. I don't enjoy hurting even a cheap paperback, but I feel much more comfortable with a ten dollar paperback than a couple or several hundred dollar reading device!

I really do bring a book with me everywhere, and did so a week ago. I attended a park play day with a friend. Had a great time, but my book was firmly attached in my hand. I never even opened it but enjoyed having it with me. One of the dads in the group happens to be an author and Christian apologist and noticed my book. He commented that it was a really difficult book to get through and understand. It was G.K. Chesterton's The Man Who Was Thursday, a mere 114 pages in length. I thanked him for the warning, as he started to explain a bit about the book and why it is so difficult. I'm sure he's right.... G.K. Chesterton is brilliant and I enjoyed his classic book Orthodoxy about 20 years prior, so I knew it wasn't going to be an easy read; indeed, I wasn't look for an easy fictional book. I wanted something with substance; something that would make me think.

I couldn't quite decide if he was being helpful or condescending towards me. As a woman, I do at times feel that certain books cater to men and I am expected to read and enjoy "women books" of certain topics or shorter, or easier to read or just more marketed towards women.

It bugs me like crazy.

The reality is, I don't look like I've any bit of intelligence in me, and I don't act or converse like it either! I really can't organize my thoughts when I speak and am even challenged to do so in written form. There is so much going through my mind, but it is difficult at times to express it. What good is it, even, if I can't communicate? Why read and delight in books of the type I enjoy if I can't hold a meaningful, intelligent conversation about it?

Aw, no one wants to have a meaningful, intelligent conversation with me anyways.

I'll let you know if I enjoy or even understand The Man Who Was Thursday.