Patient Books

I am awash in books.

My proverbial book eyes are far bigger than my book stomach. (Were that only true in real life!) I wander bookstores and my heart pounds. I buy a pile of books. I read a review; I buy the book. I remember a book I once loved, I find it or buy it, and add it to my pile. I connect to an author and pile up every thing they’ve written.

I have shelves devoted to ‘read soon.’ The mound teeters over.

And then there’s the reference book jones. One itsy writing moment where I need information, and I rush on line to buy books on the topic: Nicknames! Hungarian food! Fashion of the Seventies!

A small sampling of what waits for me:

A Fine and Private Place by Peter Beagle (oh, how I loved this book way back)

The Age of Innocence by Edith Wharton (okay, been there a looooong time)

Adultery & Other Choices by Andre Dubus (theme, not personal interest, honey!)

The First Man-Made Man by Pagan Kennedy (spoke at grubstreet.org conference)

The Devils’ Territory by Kyle Minor (heard him read at Brookline Booksmith)

Brothers by Yu Hua (looked so fat and juicy and tempting …and smart!)

Outliers by Malcom Gladwell (hey, who doesn’t want to succeed?)

The Spooky Art by Norman Mailer (I’m a sucker for writing books)

White Girl by Kate Manning (review!)

Kinfolks by Lisa Alther (favored author with new book!)

November 22, 1963 by Adam Braver (Brookline Booksmith reading)

Townhouse and Inside Out Girl by Tish Cohen (sampled from Kindle—fell in love!)

Anatopsis by Chris Abouzeid (Brave magic girl!)

This is just the tip of the iceberg (and lets not even talk about my ‘sample’ page on Kindle.)

I love books.

I need them after I’ve read them.
I need them waiting for me.
I need them surrounding me everywhere I look.

I am an addict of the printed word and I want no relief from my habit.