If eavesdropping is what you do when you listen in on somebody's conversation, what is it called when you read over their shoulders? Actually, on the train today, it wasn't reading over anyone's shoulder, it was reading the front and back pages of the newspaper the guy directly across from me was holding up.
And next to him, a tall gangly youth's reading material of choice was a thin book of Emily Dickinson's poetry. Wow. I can only read Dickinson when I sit properly and concentrate, there's no way I can read her in a train commute.
And that's why Harold Bloom is still on the bedside table since November's post (http://snugpug.blogspot.com/2006/11/read-any-good-books-lately.html), he's been abandoned for a Margaret Lawrence period novel which L picked up from the National Library sale of used books.
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