Depressing.

I want to be in a book club.

Back when I was in graduate school, I started a book club with some of my colleagues. Admittedly, we were a hoity-toity bunch. Our book picks ranged from James Gleick to William Faulkner (with a little Jonathan Safran Foer and Michael Chabon in there to be trendy). We drank lots of wine and discussed things that made us feel smart and superior. But it was a lot of fun and I read a lot of books that I probably would not have normally picked up.

And so, when a friend at our last duty station said she was interested in doing a book club so she could expand her horizons, I jumped up and said I'd round one up.

I invited a lot of people. By the time I was done pestering, about 7 decided to give it a try. Book club rules were the person hosting the next month's meeting would select the book (as well as provide the wine and cheese). When N., a woman I didn't know very well, chose Jodi Picault's "My Sister's Keeper" as the first book, I wondered if I wasn't treading on dangerous ground. But I found that much of the comraderie and branching out was there to be had in the second group as well once I got past my uptight literary snobbery.

New duty station, new book club, right? Third time's got to be the charm. But when I ask around, at meetings and Fundraisers, no one is interested. Just the other week, at a coffee, I asked people if they were game and got the following responses.

"I'm too busy."

"The only reading I do is in my Bible."

"I don't really read."

"I do Oprah's book club." (I asked for clarification on this. It means that when she thinks of it, she picks up whatever Oprah recommends and reads that book. She does it about three times a year).

So I think I will start a book club of one. Half the time, I hold conversations with myself these days anyway so why the hell not. For the first book, I'm going to check out David Mitchell's "Cloud Atlas: A Novel."

For the second? Who knows. Got anything to recommend?