Books in the fast lane

Sometimes I wish I read more slowly. Occasionally I get to the end of a really good book and think how sad it is that the ride is over. 

I felt like that at the end of Rules of Civility by Amor Towles. I devoured the book, wanting to know what happened even when really I knew where it was all headed. 

At the start of the novel it’s abundantly clear that this is not the stuff of a happy ending; that there’s a sorrow to come of some kind.  But pretty soon I was scooped up in the glamour of being young, free and single in New York, 1938. 

I was bowled over by the rich socialite with an expensive coat and a fancy appartment. I enjoyed the cocktails, the jazz clubs, the rides around Manhattan, even the rather dull but independent job.

I picked up reading speed and before I knew it I was approaching the end fast but feeling I had probably missed a lot along the way.

Reading slowly comes hard once you have the knack of speed. Fast reading gets you through those dreary bits and, I have to say, those dreary books. It allows you to rattle through the over-long description or any plodding plot explanation. 

But slowing down is hard. Once or twice I have consciously done it. With Wolf Hall I managed to think myself  into the period and slacken the pace.

But Amor Towles would not let me get out of the fast lane. I got to the end wanting to start over.