Not really. I used to read one story every winter - "White nights" by Dostoevsky - but since I misplaced my copy of his short stories, I seem to have misplaced that ritual as well. Thinking of it now, I miss the story and the ritual.
The edition I used to read had his other stories as well ("Gentle creature," etc.) but "White nights" was special. The ritual began in high school amongst my friends, the literary misfits who would gather in the prop room behind the school auditorium. We would read aloud from Creely, or Ginsberg, or Rilke, or we would do a reading of "Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf." (I was Honey, always. No one else wanted to play Honey. They all wanted to be Martha, and they anticipated the moment when they could bray "I DON'T BRAY!!!". It was, I'm afraid, better casting than I'd like to admit. I never could bray.) "White nights" was the nighttime gleam on the white snow as we would walk home - never discussed, but always there.
melanie
2 comments:
I have to admit to avoiding the classics like the plague... they were forced upon in my English Lit, and despite the fact that I am a voracious reader, I won't pick one up. Ever.
Still, it's nice to see the amount of enjoyment you rec'd from them.
What a wonderful tradition! That's too bad you misplaced the book. When I was a young child, I used to read the Christmas story to my dog every year. She would just lie there with me, and I was so sure she was listening intently to every word. LOL
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