An Embarrassed Reader and Writer

While I eagerly await ‘The Literary Review’ of ‘The Hindu’ every first Sunday of the month, at the end of reading it leaves me sad and feeling empty. I feel sad that there are so many books and so many authors I haven’t yet read. The excellent articles on different authors and their writers makes me want to go out and buy their books. But how many books can one buy and how many can one read? Even if I manage to lay my hands on them where is the time to read them?

This month’s issue of ‘The Literary Review’ carried in-depth articles on Doris Lessing, Anne Enright, Joseph Conrad and Montaigne. The only thing that cheered me up was the knowledge that I had managed to buy a smaller version of Montaigne’s ‘Essays’ that was reviewed in this issue. It was the article on Joseph Conrad that brought on the gloom. I am embarrassed to admit that I haven’t yet read any of his books. I haven’t also read many other classics that others manage to read in school and college. I am fifteen years into a job and I still haven’t read many classics. One New Year’s resolution I am planning to make is to read at least half a dozen classics in the next year and fill up this yawning gap in my reading.

Another reason why reading the articles on great writers and their books brings on the gloom is the knowledge that their talents are so superior that I feel it would require me to take several births to even imitate their style of writing. It is so very difficult to write well. On such occasions I am embarrassed to call myself a writer, it seems so presumptuous