As an experiment we sometimes introspect at the way we work, sometimes a better word may be madness. This week we had a delivery of over 400 books. I am not going to be ashamed to say this, there is always a small percentage of arrivals that land up at home and come back to the store when they have been digested. Last night, about 30 books went home in a box. The general plan was to head out to a pub, drink and get wasted. A little doobie was sparked and I was sorting these 30 books based on reading priority…
Pile A. Have to be read post haste.
Pile B. Have to be read once Pile A is done.
Pile C. Want to read, but might never get around to it (back to the store)
Have to leave to drink.
Have to read, top 2 books to make it to the top of Pile A?
Lovers or Something Like It by Florian Zeller, a small novella with lyrical prose reflecting the authors views on love, the life of a couple and infidelity. The beauty with novellas are their approachability, they are pint sized wonders. In this case quite captivating as I am still recovering from reading Kundera’s The Unbearable Lightness of Being, infidelity seems to be becoming a reading theme. This one is much lighter, a little more contemporary and hence easier to sink into.
The second one was Grimalkin & other poems by Thomas Lynch (who also happens to be an undertaker in the states)
These Things Happen In the Lives of Women
The first time he ever bought her lingerie
she was dead of gin and librium and years
of trying to regain her innocence.
“These things happen in the lives of women. . . .”
is what the priest told him. “They lose their way.”
And lost is what she looked like lying there
awash in her own puke and the disarray
of old snapshots and pill bottles,
bedclothes and letters and mementos of
the ones with whom she had been intimate.
She was cold already. Her lips were blue.
So he bought her a casket and red roses
and bought silk panties and a camisole
and garters and nylons and a dressing gown
with appliques in the shape of flowers.
And after the burial he bought a stone
with her name and dates on it and wept aloud
and went home after that and kept weeping.
Yes this weekend there was a bit of distillation.