There is something good and right about keeping a journal of sorts. Writing, even when so casual and fandom-obsessed as what I tend to manage in my off-hours, is simply good for the soul. In short, I need to do more of it, effective immediately.
So I’ll start with a story.
The closest to paradise I think I am likely to find on this world is a library or sometimes a bookstore. Bookstores do have the advantage in that they surround me with reading material and also sometimes serve coffee or tea, or best yet both. (BookPeople, downtown, being my favorite example of such a place.) Of course one can make due with a good coffee shop if you bring your own book… but it simply isn’t the same as being surrounded on all sides by towering shelves of books. Places like this are my comfort zone and my security blanket — even the lamest mall bookstore has a comfortable, familiar feel… almost like visiting an old friend. I can just wander places like this for hours — cavorting up and down shelves at random, picking things up and putting them down again, exploring the untamed forests of literature. That’s the little girl in me speaking, of course, but there’s still a bit of adventure to turning a corner to be met by anything that may be confined to the printed page.
A few days ago I found my way to Half Price Books, a local chain that’s just what it says on the tin. I wandered in circles for an hour, really hoping to find an atlas or some road maps to cut up for a project I have in mind, but instead made my way out again with five books. Three of them are older than I am and one of them cost 2/3rds of what I spent. (So my literary adventure comes complete with a math problem!) In my treasure-trove, I have:
- American Gods, by Neil Gaiman. I have read American Gods more than once and I hope to read it more than once again. I have an audio copy, which is quite good, but I wanted something more tangible this time ’round and I can’t find my original copy. This book, this story… it’s something that ought to be tangible. It needs to be touched, tasted, felt, experienced. I’m re-reading it along with the One Book, One Twitter book club.
- Spook Country, by William Gibson. I believe this is the only of Gibson’s works that I haven’t read. Somehow it amuses me to have a beaten-up paperback copy of it rather than read it on my Kindle.
- The Laurel Poetry Series Whitman. Published 1959, a collection of Walt Whitman’s poems, in a tiny paperback filled with hand-written notes. I love that it feels aged and the little notes — like a mirror back in time.
- Doctor Who and the Talons of Weng-Chaing, by Terrance Dicks. Don’t judge me, okay. It’s the novelization of a great serial.
- Alice in Wonderland & Through the Looking Glass, by Lewis Carroll, illustrated by John Tenniel. Published in 1946 and quite lovely. Bound in pink cloth with pictures of rabbits across the front and back. Lots of illustrations, in both black & white and color. The color illustrations, especially, are striking — nearly enough to make me want to cannibalize this book and hang them on a wall. Nearly.
As if I don’t have enough books scattered around the house waiting to be read already… though, in truth, you can never have too many, can you? This brings me yet another step closer to building my library fortress of solitude.
{ 0 comments }
