Books are kind of amazing.
Correction: books are amazing, one kind of amazing, a kind that is slowly, surely, healing my soul.
Ten weeks ago shit happened. Ten weeks ago, as the most lovely Salman Rushdie puts it, the excrement hit the ventilation system. And in the time since, it has been on books that I have relied, books which make getting up out of bed in the morning a more promising prospect. I’ve had some time on my hands, therefore the number of books read is high and grows higher. It will grow higher soon with the fifteen books I put on hold at the library today.
Last night I finally made a list. They had been sitting in a stack beneath my windowsill, next to my bed. I added one to the mental stack at lunchtime. This afternoon I finally dismembered it, pulled out the library books to return them. And tonight I set that hand-written list to pixellated form.
Midnight’s Children by Salman Rushdie
Your Illustrated Guide to Becoming One with the Universe
Tiny Beautiful Things by Cheryl Strayed
The Wizard of Oz by L Frank Baum
The Opposite of Loneliness by Marina Keegan
Nothing Special by Charlotte Joko Beck
The Spirit Catches You and You Fall Down by Anne Fadiman
Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy
Life of Pi by Yann Martel
Quiet by Susan Cain
When Women Were Birds by Terry Tempest Williams
The Prophet by Kahlil Gibran
The Sheltering Sky by Paul Bowles
Internal Medicine by Terrence Holt
Me Talk Pretty One Day by David Sedaris
Ballistics by Billy Collins
The Elegance of the Hedgehog by Muriel Barbery
Stargirl by Jerry Spinelli
Nine Horses by Billy Collins