once upon a time, i used to digest several books a week. good books, bad books, everthing from r.l. stine to jane austen. i had a rating system, 10 being something so trashy i could barely cop to reading it (v.c. andrews, anyone?) and 1 being so culturally relevant and groundbreaking and Important as to make it almost indigestible without intellectual Tums in the form of a snotty literature professor.
i miss that total immersion into imaginary worlds. i miss the spark it triggered in me to create my own worlds, or at least to chronicle the worlds that i spend most of my waking life thinking about (you know, the worlds that aren't this one).
a few weeks ago i borrowed "rapture of canaan", which is about a 5 on the junk-o-meter. given that i'm out of practice (i haven't read a work of fiction from start to finish since the last harry potter book came out) i expected to lose interest or fall asleep quickly, thus breaking the stride and adding the book to that pile of books i'm going to get around to reading. which isn't so much a physical pile but a vague list of lost books in my head.
imagine my surprise when i tore through it in a few hours. like i'd never taken years' hiatus from reading. it felt great, like the first warm spring day after a long cold winter. my neglected neurons stretched their dendrites in the sun.
so today i'm wandering around the bookstore drinking my coffee with miriam pacified in the stroller with a soft pretzel, and i decide to buy the first book that catches my eye. the junkier the better.
the cover of "darkly dreaming dexter" has the black/white/red color combination that reminds me of my childhood bedroom, the name "dexter" when we briefly considered for naomi if she was a boy, and something corpse-like. so i pick it up. and actually purchase it (that might be the most shocking thing of all).
i made my way home navigating a city sidewalk, simultaneously steering the stroller one handed and reading the gruesome details of a serial killer's nights.
this is the life ;)