As much as I enjoyed organising, reading, and writing for Dutch Lit Month, I have to admit I am also relieved that it is over. No more planned reading and writing for a while.. *heaves a big sigh*
Now that’s not entirely true. There are lots of amazing events happening in the book blogosphere in the upcoming month. There’s Jodie’s Small Press Forthnight; Care’s Summer in the City and the City Read Along; Bookbath and Thyme for Tea’s Paris in July; Miss Darcy’s Rosamond Lehmann Reading Week; Mrstreme’s Orange July; and I’m sure there are more which I didn’t think of. I kind of want to participate in all of them, but I don’t have any definite plans yet. Simply because I’m in a mood for “Yay, no definite plans”-reading.
There are also quite a few books I have read but haven’t talked about yet that I have to catch up on. As well as a number of review copies. If only I could get the posts written.. There are also one or two personal reading projects that I’m planning to talk about later. Hah, so much for “no more plans for a while”, right? But let’s just establish that sometimes half the fun in reading is thinking of what you’re going to read next..
You know what I missed most in June? Just talking about books with all of you. I know this might seem weird, as I posted reviews and everything.. But containing my bookish thoughts to just Dutch lit (while I was also “secretly” reading regular books) and trying to fit in all the Dutch books I had read before the end of the month. I don’t know, some of the natural flow blogging usually has for me was taken away. I usually just pick a book to write about at any given moment. Also, it’s much harder to simply discuss Dutch books as most of the titles are more marginal. I don’t know, I’m just so happy to be able to post “Hey, I’m reading this, what are you reading this week?” posts again, with a little (or a lot) of rambling on the side.
Paul Hugues – Women in the Park*
In light of my reading, I have been contemplating how it’s possible that I’m up to 90 books this year so far. I know that for a lot of you, reading 200 books a year is the most natural thing in the world. However, my usual average is much lower; I generally manage to read one hundred books a year, and only just. I can think of a few explanations. First, I’m unemployed. Second, I have not been obliged to read as much academic literature. While I was writing my Master thesis last year a whole day of reading and writing left me less eager to pick up a work of fiction at home. Right now, I have little professional reading to “distract” me [although, I wish I would]. And yet, I’m still a little surprised at how much I’m reading this year. I find it hard to keep up review wise [Did I mention the 24 books yet to be reviewed?]. My reading is bringing me joy though; it is surprising, and lovely, and it takes away from some of the pain of being unemployed. You won’t hear me complaining. It has me puzzled, that’s all, because it’s such an absurd rise in numbers.
Less rambly posts coming up in the near future, promise 
For now, I hope you have a lovely weekend!
* Picture found via Alex’ Fellow Readers Pinterest. I have to admit, I keep thinking of Ana’s post on The Woman Reader when I browse these pictures. Luckily, it hasn’t taken away from my enjoyment of them.
