Well, okay, it’s like this: I haven’t read most of the classics. It’s worse than that. I haven’t read any of the classics unless I was compelled to do so by someone with a Ph.D. who had the power to keep me from getting my B.S. I hang my head in shame, ask for lenience and wonder if I would still have had to spell check lenience if I had paid more attention to literature and less to “books.”
Still, I really gotta say, I’ve always found the classics to be a lot of work. My right brain doesn’t mind. My left brain objects and it does so vehemently, but I’ve been inspired by everyone here at Mrs. B.G.’s to rectify the situation.
Kindle has 49,990 books under the heading “Fiction Classics” so I decided to begin with the 140 th to correspond with what will be the 140th post of Mrs. B.G.’s, this one. It turned out to be an Agatha Christie novel. Somehow that wasn’t quite what I had in mind, so I decided to start here:
“Emma Woodhouse, handsome, clever and rich, with a comfortable home and happy disposition…”
I think my left brain likes her already.