(Drafted August 2010)
I don’t know how I came up with this post title. If you swapped language for music I think it sums up everything I ever want to write about. It’s more suited to a blog title than a post one. The previous post should have been called ‘language/stories’. (edit. now is) I love people’s stories. I should have said that.
Is ‘books’ a reasonable subject for a blog post, when I talk/think about them almost constantly? How can I fit it all in? Although as I don’t write it down here (barely anything gets written down so it would seem), maybe it’s okay to try (call it a start). I’m pretty obsessed with books. A book shop is somewhere to spend some time. It’s calming and enveloping. At the weekend I found time to go to Waterstones for a while and pick out some new choices. Since joining the library down here I don’t think I’ve bought a book, which is good for my bank balance but makes me worry that I won’t have the books I love on my shelf. I found that throughout university, if I didn’t make sure I bought the books I enjoyed, I forgot and they were added to the list of books I want to own which is now too long to manage.
Reasons I love wandering around in a bookshop: I love looking at the covers, the hardcover, the paperback, the blurb. (Note to self: add a ‘top covers’ chart to my non-existent book journal. How We Are Hungry (978-0241143070) would be in there). I love how much they make me think. I love just looking. I love having to surpress the urge to follow people around going “READ THIS! READ THIS!”. Instead, if I’m with David, I make loud comments about how ‘Zeitoun should be on this table because it’s one of the best books I’ve read in a long long time”. At the moment it feels like every other book I read makes me want to write another dissertation. A Long, Long Time Ago and Essentially True and The Reader have particularly made me want to get all academic and creative. James Jordan and his Holocaust module have changed my way of reading, forever.
I’ve no idea what this post is focussed on though. Maybe it’ll work it’s way out from between the lines and creep up on me next time I write.
“Life happened because I turned the pages”.