Signs of a "Good Book"

From Will Schwalbe's The End of Your Life Book Club, pages 42-3:

"One of the many things I love about bound books is their sheer physicality. Electronic books live out of sight and out of mind. But printed books have body, presence. Sure, sometimes they'll elude you by hiding in improbable places: in a box full of old picture frames, say, or in the laundry basket, wrapped in a sweatshirt. But at other times they'll confront you, and you'll literally stumble over some tomes you hadn't thought about in weeks or years. I often seek electronic books, but they never come after me. They make me feel, but I can't feel them. They are all soul with no flesh, no texture, and no weight. They can get in your head but can't whack you upside it.

Ahh.

I started Mr. Schwalbe's book late this afternoon, and I've dogeared 10 of the 48 pages I've read. A good sign, I think. This one will be hard to put down.


Before letting myself start the Schwalbe, which had been coming after me for the past week, I forced myself to finish the two other books I was reading.


The first of the finished books was volume three of that series all of us ladies read last summer -- the one which was delightfully lampooned on SNL as the ultimate Mother's Day gift. You know the books of which I speak. I had stopped reading that final book in the series when school started, and despite a serious lack of interest in finishing... Well, No-television January means either doing the unpleasant jobs on my to-do list (taxes, cleaning closets) or distracting myself by finishing whatever books are lying around unfinished. And, like I said, the Schwalbe was coming after me.

I had purchased the ebook to read on my Kindle, and that probably had something to do with my being able to set it aside for so long. It hadn't come after me.

The second of the finished books was P. D. James' lovely Death Comes to Pemberley. The prologue alone -- wherein James retells Pride and Prejudice in ten quick pages, deftly mimicking Austen while casting aspersions on the tale by taking the point of view of a village gossip -- was worth the cost of the book.

Upon turning the last page, I felt the grief of the reader -- the sad fog that fills one's day after bidding adieu to beloved friends. Another good sign.

PS My sadness was exponential as The Lizzie Bennet Diaries are coming to a close before too long. I'll be saying goodbye to Elizabeth and Darcy again within the month. Sniff.