Too many holidays? Isn't that like too much money? Combine some one whose sense of self is driven by the work he does with another soul who will simply not work nights and weekends and you have me. These are usually not conflicting predipositions -- usually, I can just work hard during the week and do stuff outdoors on the weekends.
Usually, I can. I can not effect such a compromise when: (a) the weather is bad (b) when it is not a workday. Winter is full of holidays when the weather is bad -- a recipe for disaster, as far as I am concerned.
So, that is why I read a lot more during the winter than I do in summer. Too many books, read in a grouchy frame of mind. In winter, more than at any other time, I hate authors who do not entertain and writers who write their books for idiots to read. Pity that I had to encounter the works of Arundhati Roy in winter. I'm probably off her forever which, considering the kind of publicity she is receiving, means ten, maybe fifteen, books I will never read.
Still, sneak autobiographies that equate the social taboo of miscegnation with that against incest will not make the list of my favorite books, shine, rain or road-salt. Adios, Ms. Roy.
