... with a favorite author is very sad.
I've been a big fan of Laurie Colwin since first reading her columns in Gourmet magazine as a kid quite a long time ago (my parents were subscribers, ceci explique celà). Since then I've read almost all her work, and loved every paragraph of it - the essays on food and cooking that first got me hooked, collected in Home Cooking and More Home Cooking - her novels about impossibly bright and charming and just quirky enough to be endearing New Yorkers...
Well, I've read 3 of her books again very recently and am disappointed. The thrill is gone. The quirkiness is no longer endearing, it's pretentious affectation. I'm sad. I've never fallen out of love with an author before, and I don't like change. It would be one thing to consider that I've outgrown her, in a spurt of intellectual growth, but frankly I doubt that's the case - and I didn't think Colwin was the sort of author who could or should be outgrown.
Oh well. Back on the shelf they go, and perhaps in a few years I'll fall for them all over again.
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