So, apart from getting waylaid by the sad woman with her sad story in Barnes & Noble last weekend, I also managed to get a little book shopping in.
Actually, it wasn't shopping so much as it was replacement. Several times in the last couple of weeks, I had gone into the upstairs book-o-teria and book-bookery that is the home office in search of either Gone with the Wind (Every time I pick it up, I mean to read it with a critical eye, and every time, I fail -- but damn it, I was going to try again) or Pride and Prejudice, and both books, both beloved copies were missing.
I looked everywhere. I mean, EVERYWHERE for either one, and came up with bupkis, so we went trooping off to the bookstore for replacements.
And now, if you looked at my nightstand, you'd get a snapshot of who I am these days: Jane Austen stacked on top of Margaret Mitchell stacked on top of Harper Lee stacked on top of J.K. Rowling, with Sarah Vowell and Abraham Lincoln (the man himself) leaning in on the action, all covering up the secret shame of a woman's glossy and a doorstopper work of English chicklit.
I finished Pride and Prejudice the night I bought it, and I've been working my way through GwtW on my own, while reading a bit of Harry Potter (Sorcerer's Stone) out loud to Adam every night, while the rest I pick up at random, open somewhere in the middle and just read.
I can't believe a quarter of the American population is missing out on this joy. Really, it breaks my heart.
Actually, it wasn't shopping so much as it was replacement. Several times in the last couple of weeks, I had gone into the upstairs book-o-teria and book-bookery that is the home office in search of either Gone with the Wind (Every time I pick it up, I mean to read it with a critical eye, and every time, I fail -- but damn it, I was going to try again) or Pride and Prejudice, and both books, both beloved copies were missing.
I looked everywhere. I mean, EVERYWHERE for either one, and came up with bupkis, so we went trooping off to the bookstore for replacements.
And now, if you looked at my nightstand, you'd get a snapshot of who I am these days: Jane Austen stacked on top of Margaret Mitchell stacked on top of Harper Lee stacked on top of J.K. Rowling, with Sarah Vowell and Abraham Lincoln (the man himself) leaning in on the action, all covering up the secret shame of a woman's glossy and a doorstopper work of English chicklit.
I finished Pride and Prejudice the night I bought it, and I've been working my way through GwtW on my own, while reading a bit of Harry Potter (Sorcerer's Stone) out loud to Adam every night, while the rest I pick up at random, open somewhere in the middle and just read.
I can't believe a quarter of the American population is missing out on this joy. Really, it breaks my heart.
1 Comments:
Hi! I love that you've chronicled the various books on your bedside table. I have a similar stack and am also prone to random opening and reading...also to devouring books whole the minute that I get them. I don't understand people who don't enjoy reading. I mean, I know people have busy lives, etc. but it's the ultimate stress reliever for me. Very few things are better at getting my blood pressure down and my head straight.
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