I have rediscovered the library. No surprise there, I guess, since everyone is trying to save money these days. I do think it is surprising that I ever stopped going to the library, however. I am a huge lover of all things having to do with the library. I loved the feeling of being surrounded by bajillions of books. I loved to study there in law school, would do most of my work there in college, even some of my earliest memories of childhood take place in libraries.
My mom used to take me to the library in downtown San Francisco on a weekly basis, and I can remember stomping up and down the stairs in the sweeping entrance. I would climb to the top of the staircase and then slide down the smooth surface under the banisters right next to the steps. If I think hard, I can almost feel the coolness of the dim hallways, hear the way my feet would make echoes as we walked from room to room. She never gave me a limit on how many books I could take home, and I would obsess over my choices, filling up a huge bag that we would tote to the checkout.
I really love libraries.
It is different with a toddler and a baby, of course. My trips to the library are rushed and hectic, trying to manage the task of picking out books for Gabe and Josie, and then running quickly through the adult section with only 30 seconds to pick out books for myself. I hit the gold mine this week, though.
I am one of those people who cannot put down a book, even if I don't like it, even if I think it is terrible. I have to see it through, find out how it ends, give the author a chance to redeem herself. When I find a book I love, I am almost an addict. I can't stop reading; I stay up late to get through one more chapter that turns into ten more chapters. It is terrible. Sometimes I even force myself to take a break from reading and that never-ending draw of the novel on my nightstand.
This book, though. Wow. This book is so good, I don't want to stay up late reading it, I want to draw it out. I want to make it last all week rather than rush to find out how it ends. A book like this is, well, I don't know. I won't say it is better than sex, but it is close.
Tell me you've read something this good this summer, please. I'm not done yet, but I'm already feeling how disappointing it is going to be to close these pages and slide it into the library return slot.