2015 mcpolish fall reading list

7 Oct

Listen, you guys, reading is serious business, and I am a serious person.

Seriously.*

And this is proven by the feat I accomplished this past summer, wherein I finished reading not one, but TWO books on the Summer 2015 McPolish Reading List: We Are All Completely Beside Ourselves by Karen Joy Fowler, and Firefly Lane, by Kristin Hannah. While I won’t spoil my thoughts on the books—I’ll save that for my debrief of what I’ve read this year next month–I will now pause for your applause on such an amazing accomplishment.

Oh you guys! You flatter me!

You guys, for real. Now you’re just embarrassing me…….

……I have to move on now, you guys. Your hands are getting chapped and we’ve got other books to discuss.

So, since I experienced such phenomenal success (by my standards) with my summer reading list, and because autumn is my spirit animal (actually that has nothing to do with anything except to divine truth about myself upon yourself) (I don’t even really know what I said right there) (the takeaway here is that I love fall), I want to keep the book list momentum going, and with any luck I will go all Dolph Lundgren-as-Drago-esque on my fall reading list and be all, “I must break you.”

Except instead of Rocky Balboa,** I will break books. And by break I mean read the shit out of.

So! Here’s what I will (maybe) read this fall:

Words, words, words

Words, words, words

The Adventures of Kavalier and Clay—Michael Chabon

The Golden Compass—Phillip Pullman (Yes, I realize it was on the summer list. Stop judging me. I am determined to read this one.)

Malcom X—Manning Marabel

Nobody’s Baby But Mine—Susan Elizabeth Phillips

A little bit of this genre, a little bit of that genre, all mixed together for what I hope will be another great reading season.

What’s on your fall list this year? Anything I should add to mine?

*Not really.

**I just realized that this is a horrible analogy, as Dolph Lundgren’s Drago gets his ass handed to him by Sylvester Stalone’s Rocky. I would like to not have my ass handed to me by books.

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