Safety Fork, the

I finished reading The Gulag Archipelago tonight. I derived a non-fictional literary satisfaction from this book that I haven’t from any book since I read McCullough’s Truman and Speer’s Inside the Third Reich when I was still in high school.

I find it a little bid odd that I’m reading more books again now that I am no longer in school. Isn’t a university supposed to foster appreciation of literature? It isn’t as though I read nothing for the last four years, but looking back, I don’t seem to have consumed so many books as I did before or—as it is beginning to appear—after. Perhaps the difference is that despite my increased personal responsibilites, my working efforts are now collected into a specific portion of my time, leaving the rest in uninterrupted blocks for other pursuits.