The Third Book

The Third Book is a term I will employ from here on out when describing the books I am actually reading (as opposed to all the books I'm supposed to be reading...say, for school or other such important endeavors).

The favored tome of the moment (or the past two hours) was Graham Greene's The Third Man (aha! See the parallels? Clever? No? No. Humph.). Yes, I'm aware that what I'm holding in my hands (that's right, I'm typing this with my nose...try it, it's not that hard) was never intended to be published. The book version is, in fact, a draft of the plot written up for a screenplay Greene was working on.

The movie, starring Orson Welles and...other people, is apparently a classic. No, I haven't seen it. Nor have I seen Citizen Kane. Or The Godfather. Or Psycho. Or Chinatown. Or anything made by George Romero. I haven't seen plenty of classics, so don't give me grief about this one. If it's any consolation, this is the first text I've read that made me think, "Great book. I bet the movie is even better."

Whether or not such a statement is true must wait, sadly, for scholastic demands are beckoning. Or they would be if I'd remembered to pick up the packet of essays for my class tomorrow. Since I did not, I think I'll take a walk down memory lane and investigate this text, which just fell from the hands of a now sleeping sibling. Poifect!