Hitting the Books
True Confession: I still read books - you remember, those old-fashioned, clunky, musty, bulky things that require page-turning and bookmarks rather than mouse-clicks and wheel-turns. And well yes, there is that need to remember where you left the damned things - oh for an equivalent of Net "bookmark"! Okay, your recollection is correct, some of them do tend to go on a bit, especially if you are the sort who chafes at overly-long sound-bites. A decently long book might last you for weeks (I feel your shudder), admittedly longer than many north americans at least seem to be able to sustain a train of thought.
Actually "devour" might be a better term than "read," as it properly invokes zeal and passion, at risk of exaggerating my true processing speed. I have taken to recording and categorizing my reading over the past decade or so, as personal goad and intrinsically interesting. For example, that record highlights an increase in current events/politics reading in the past 3 or 4 years as well as a decline in what I loosely categorize as "youthful" fiction (e.g., Lemony Snicket), as our offspring have fledged. Fiction versus non-fiction numbers tend to swing rather wildly, self-analysis yet to yield fruit on that score.
I bring this up in anticipation of at least a post or two on the subject of book-buying and related joys. While I buy and receive (and cherish) brand-new books, my personal book-hunting pleasure recently involves used books. I am not a bibliophile, collecting first editions or prized versions, merely a patron of the used-book trade and I guess a companion-in-arms to the garage-sale afficionado. If necessary I can fall back on a list of books of interest, but that crutch is rarely needed. Especially satisfying to me is finding something of interest in the discard pile out on the sidewalk. It's definitely in the category of treasure hunt. In a typical week I find at least a couple $2 prizes of the sort to make that mythical desert island sojourn much more tolerable.
In the meantime I need more bookcases.
Actually "devour" might be a better term than "read," as it properly invokes zeal and passion, at risk of exaggerating my true processing speed. I have taken to recording and categorizing my reading over the past decade or so, as personal goad and intrinsically interesting. For example, that record highlights an increase in current events/politics reading in the past 3 or 4 years as well as a decline in what I loosely categorize as "youthful" fiction (e.g., Lemony Snicket), as our offspring have fledged. Fiction versus non-fiction numbers tend to swing rather wildly, self-analysis yet to yield fruit on that score.
I bring this up in anticipation of at least a post or two on the subject of book-buying and related joys. While I buy and receive (and cherish) brand-new books, my personal book-hunting pleasure recently involves used books. I am not a bibliophile, collecting first editions or prized versions, merely a patron of the used-book trade and I guess a companion-in-arms to the garage-sale afficionado. If necessary I can fall back on a list of books of interest, but that crutch is rarely needed. Especially satisfying to me is finding something of interest in the discard pile out on the sidewalk. It's definitely in the category of treasure hunt. In a typical week I find at least a couple $2 prizes of the sort to make that mythical desert island sojourn much more tolerable.
In the meantime I need more bookcases.
posted by Sir Gumbo at 10:22 PM
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