Wandering around over the last couple of months, it’s become clear that this obsession with giving the economy a boost has reached ridiculous proportions. This combined haul of treats that has accumulated has left me anxious to keep piling through the books so I can get to the next literary intrigue, the challenge is which of these beauties do I begin my next literary love affair with? That’s ignoring the hundreds of other books whose collective presence is bearing down upon me.
Nothing makes a reader happier than many possibilities, yet it’s perplexing that with so much to choose from, the list of books I wish to read is usually whittled down to five within minutes and from there to the eventual in about an hour, thereafter. Austerlitz, Ex Libris and Philosophy in the Tragic Age of the Greeks are the forerunners at the moment but that could all change by the time I finish V.S. Naipaul’s A Bend in the River.
Having said that, any author who doesn’t use a first name and prefers to go by ‘Mrs’ instead has to be worth a punt and that was precisely why that book found its way into my bag, that and that economy excuse of course. As the old Amazon wish list (which is there purely for when I shop in the traditional way) is too fiddly to get at on my phone, I tend to browse through my blogging contacts sites for recommendations, so more time is spent actually looking at the phone than the books themselves.
The Oxfam shop – which was where the majority of the books pictured were ensnared by my greedy mitts – is a welcome relief from the usual as it only sells books and music, that and being in a city it seems to attract a wider variety of books, not the yellowing copies of The Godfather and Harry Potter that the local charity shops in my town have had for years.
Now I just need to make the time to read these beauties but one problem at a time…