In my neighborhood we've got at least three book kiosks within walking distance. These are little stands with glass doors, in which locals place books which can be taken. We can also leave books as well. I have no idea if this practice is common outside of Maryland; probably it is.
Anyway, lately I've been reading a book found within one of the kiosks: Carl Jung's
Memories, Dreams, Reflections. I'm not in the habit of reading biographies or autobiographies or anything much which is "serious" and "real", but I've always wanted to learn more about Jung after taking Mister Wizda's psychology class during senior year of high school.
Otherwise, I mostly read more 'modern' literature: Emily St. John Mandel is my current fave for instance. Read all her stuff. Impatient for more from Emily!
Carl Jung's biography is slow-going for me; he gets long-winded, and there are times I skim. But it is fun to read about Jung's day for two reasons: 1). Part I'm at now, it's in the 1890s. Electricity isn't even a thing yet, in his old country village. No cars. Death is always at the doorstep, for stuff which we easily avoid nowadays. I hope he describes what it was like when things start to modernize, and how this possibly influenced his chosen profession somehow (as I assume it did).
2). Others may disagree, but I've always been curious about Jung's greater affiliation with worldly symbolism. He's just broader-minded, in comparison with Freud. Freud's the father of psychoanalysis, but he's always struck me as the more rigid of the two. Anyway, I'm learning about both these fellows, lately. 🥃