Over Christmas I planned a lot of reading, but instead found myself fixed in front of my laptop, watching countless episodes of Sons of Anarchy. I grew attached to the episodic nature of the television show, the relentless driving forward of plot, the multiple cliff hangers and the ease of watching an already fully realised world.
Novels on the whole require more concentration, more imagination, and often take longer to get going than television shows. This isn’t to condemn novels. What you put in you get out and, generally, at least in the past (hello HBO), novels have had greater depth in almost every area; character, theme, subplot, and so provide a richer experience for a reader than a television show does for a viewer.
Comics seem the cross over point, and recently I have found myself reading more and more of them, specifically DMZ (parallels the politics of the Iraq/US war) and I Kill Giants (the anxiety of adolescence).
I’ll get back in to the swing of novels again soon, perhaps I just needed a break after the slog that was 1Q84 (good, but slow and repetitive and repetitive and repetitive). Dickens wrote his novels as serials so perhaps I should start afresh from there (added impetus, I‘m going to the British Library hosted The Penny Readings at the end of January), but really I’d prefer something less than 150 years old.