I'm Only as Good As the Book I Am Reading

I thought that the day before Wordless Wednesday I should tell you about the words filling my free time lately.

Recently while in a local charity shop, I was drawn to the book rack like a bug to the zapper. A weak, unconvincing voice in my mind was saying, "NO! You don't have the time... Remember The Tower! (forget the Alamo, I have to remember The Tower).

This is my leaning tower of books I intend to read.
There's more behind the wicker boxes...see? in the bag, and on the floor.

Books to the ceiling,
Books to the sky,
My pile of books is a mile high.
How I love them! How I need them!
I'll have a long beard by the time I read them.

---Arnold Lobel

Sigh.



ZAP! I picked out a book. Why? Because I liked the picture. That's how I pick my books, you know.

I read a little off the back ZAP!
Interesting, but I put it back--the Hubby and wee Shop Destroyer were clamoring for my attention.


***Tell me, do you have this problem? I love scrap booking paper.
I love scrap booking stickers, I like to go into the shops just to breathe in that lovely, "someone-out-there-could-actually-create-something-beautiful-with-these" smell.
I feel the same about book stores. and libraries.

Where is human nature so weak as in the bookstore?--Henry Ward Beecher

But it never fails that when I am in one such paradise, I'm always in the company of my family. "Hey, look at this!" one says. "Mom, look at this book." another will say. "Honey,
did you see this?" the husband will question. So with my head jerking around in circles and one eye twitching just a bit, I give up on looking at anything for myself.***

I digress. Strange for me, I know.

Well, ZAP ZAP ZAP went the zapper, because I was sucked back to the book rack.
I clutched my new treasure close to my chest...
and then paid £1 for a used book when I had The Tower at home.

I LURVED this book. I read passages aloud to my husband. I loved the way Kate Morton manipulated words and sculpted them into wonderful images in my head.

This is what greets you on the first page:

"Last November I had a nightmare. It was 1924 and I was at Riverton again. All the doors hung wide open, silk billowing in the summer breeze. An orchestra perched high on the hill beneath the ancient maple, violins lilting lazily in the warmth. The air rang with pealing laughter and crystal, and the sky was the kind of blue we'd all thought the war had destroyed forever. One of the footman, smart in black and white, poured champagne into the top of a tower of glass flutes and everyone clapped, delighting in the splendid wastage......This was not the shiny new building Teddy had designed, but an old structure with ivy climbing the walls, twisting itself through the windows, strangling the pillars."

I missed the characters when I was finished and sometimes find myself looking for a house that never existed. I like that in a book.

I also liked that my grey matter, forever trying to jump ahead as I read (drives my husband to distraction that I almost always have movies figured out within the first 20 minutes) was like a child's toy to Ms. Morton. She teased me with a bit of information here and a bit there, but kept enough hidden from me until the end. I will forever love her for it.

In January 2008, The House at Riverton was being read for the Barnes & Noble First Look Book Club. It's making it's way through the charts in other countries. There's a reason for it. Great read. Intoxicating.

I am currently reading (If I am only as good as the book I'm currently reading, and I never have just one going, does that mean I am a little scattered?) this book:


ZAP! Right there in Tescos. While I was just breezing in to buy laundry detergent (and that flippin' soap leaked onto my book...sacrilege!).

I won't bore you with too many details today, but will tell you, it's narrated by Death, and Death is portrayed in a way that is very endearing (he's afraid of humans. He sees things in colors). The back of the book reads (in part):

Here Is A Small Fact.
You are going to die.
1939 Nazi Germany. The country is holding it's breath. Death has never been busier.

Some Important Information

it's a small story, about:
a girl
an accordionist
some fanatical Germans
a Jewish fist fighter
and quite a lot of thievery.

and inside, "That was when a great shiver arrived. It waltzed through the window with the draught. Perhaps it was the breeze of the Third Reich, gathering even greater strength. Or maybe it was just Europe again, breathing. Either way, it fell across them as their metallic eyes clashed like tin cans in the kitchen. 'You've never cared about this country,' said Hans Junior. 'Not enough anyway.'"

So,
them there's my words for Overly Wordy Tuesday, the precursor for my day of quiet blogging. Please feel free to leave your words below... see the clever place to do that? I do love to read...