Missing : A Book

I am not reading a book right now.

I am always reading a book. In fact, I usually have the next books I am going to read piled on my nightstand or desk. To be so completely and utterly Bookless right now is unbearable.  

Reading my book is the first thing I do in the morning and the last thing I do at night. Diving into someone else’s world calms me and I sleep better - in the morning it is a quiet and calm way to start a usually rushed, busy, work-filled day. Some people meditate or do yoga - I read. 

Being without a book makes me feel disjointed and awkward, like my days are without a real beginning and end.  

I started to read “The God of Small Things”, being fully aware of the bizarre fact that two out of the three books I most recently read had ‘God’ in the title. (see “If God was a Rabbit). I cracked open the fresh, newly purchased book early one morning and began to read the immaculately manicured language of Arundhati Roy. It is written so beautifully that it orders you to read the same phrase over and over as you become immersed in the meticulously chosen words. 

Later that day I was in my doctor’s office waiting room. I had my book in my purse -as always - and pulled it out as I sat waiting for my name to be called.

Trying to read in a doctor’s office is a horrible idea. People hold old, crumpled copies of US Weekly or Chatelaine in front of their faces only to hide their wandering eyes and ears. This is certainly not the venue to be reading a book like this, a book that the New Yorker described as “A work of highly conscious art...”! I was reading the pages but I was not absorbing anything, I didn’t know the characters or what was happening, I wasn’t appreciating the language. I was too pre-occupied by all the chaos surrounding me. The baby crying, the old couple arguing, the nurses chattering etc.This experience ruined the book, albeit temporarily, for me. I will have to re-read the book, but I needed a break from it. 

That night, I picked up another book from a box of used books recently given to me by a friend. I did not read the back of the book and had no idea what it was about. I chose it simply based on it’s cover photo. The book was “Fine Just the Way it Is” by Annie Proulx. I read the first chapter and was smitten, I liked where this story was going. I fell asleep feeling content thinking I had found my book and pleased in my ability to judge a book by it’s cover. 

The next morning, I flipped to where I had left off in the book and began reading. About four pages into the second chapter I realized that this was in fact a book of short stories. I was not reading the second chapter, I was reading a completely new and different story. Ugh.

I was not in the mood for short stories and more importantly I wasn’t expecting short stories. I closed the book and put it back on the bookshelf. I would have to read it another time. And so I began my day feeling a little off - like something was missing. 

Later that same day, I peered into our mailbox which is usually filled with flyers and coupons, and found a package from sent from my sister in England...a book. ‘Inside’ by Alix Ohlin. So for the third time in two days I cracked open a new book. 

Now, here I am four days later, completely sucked into the worlds of Grace, Tug, Anne and Etienne. This book is fantastic and I relish in beginning and ending my days with short glimpses into the lives of these incredibly complex characters. I have found my book. I am no longer Bookless, for the next couple of days...

***I have since finished ‘Inside’ and will have a book review of it coming soon... 

I am now reading ‘Wolf Hall’ by Hilary Mantel.***