I'm finding it extremely difficult to engage with any contemporary, non-fiction works. The potential subject matter seems so rich and fertile, yet most of what I've perused can only be characterized as mere variations of ranting, regardless of the socio-political stance. Do I sound cynical? Perhaps. But it's the truth as I see it.
Consequently, I've once again embarked on the remarkable (albeit somewhat disturbing) journey of "The Chomsky Reader." I am at a loss to adequately convey just how invigorating (and yes, still a bit disturbing) it is to read works that are so meticulously thought out and eloquently articulated. For the time being, I'm distancing myself from the Krugmans, Suskinds, and other contemporaries, choosing instead to immerse myself in the truly meaningful.
As has always been the case, when I'm in need of some fictional escape, I'll simply log on to the NYT or the WaPo. Fortunately, I don't often have a penchant for fiction. It's not that I don't appreciate it; it's just that my interests lie more in the realm of the real and the thought-provoking.