In between a meeting and co-working with a friend, the thought popped into my head to read Ann Pachett’s Bel Canto (per a friend’s recommendation). I Googled the nearest public library and walked through the cool swish of automatic doors 8 minutes later.
For me, visiting libraries feels like a tryst; an intimate, secretive meeting.
I’d never been to this particular branch, so I did a quiet lap, getting my bearings and then searched fiction for Pachett’s book (where I also found Novak’s near by on a whim). Next, I walked the new non-fiction and fiction areas, read the pastel blue, pink and green flyers laid out on a table (the memories of high school flooding back – bake sales, donations needed, tutoring schedules), and found the turnstile rack of paperbacks.
Here is where the popular books reside – books I’ve heard about on the radio or read about in magazines – but haven’t made an effort to read in the year since they were released. Here is where I get greedy, and start piling books into my arms, the luxury of never reaching the check-out limit still insane to me.
So, I limit myself. I still have most of February’s haul checked out and with leaving town in a few weeks, I don’t want to lose track of the (now many) books in my possession.
Later in the week, I finally settled into Jeniffer Egan’s novel, and I should be done with it this week. So far, I like it, but it falls into the one-character-per-chapter style of The Bone Clocks, Poisonwood Bible and Station Eleven (books I just read). It would be great to read a first person narrative next.
Extra note: I got to visit another library late Thursday evening (who knew they were open until 8pm, the heat of the day still heavy on the air) to pick up the third Hunger Games on audio book for H. He’s “reading” a lot now, blazing through 3 books in less than 4 weeks with all the time he commutes. At that rate, he may need to get his own library card soon.