Blog : Book Binging

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9387 posts
2/18/2008 8:49 am

Book Binging

It happened again. I went gaga in the bookstore last night, as I am wont to do, and started loading my arms with books that caught my fancy. I saw two 's books that I think my youngest would love–Wolves by Emily Gravett, which won the Bronze Award for the Nestle 's Book Prize in 2005, about a rabbit who goes into a library and borrows a book about wolves, and Library Lion, by Michelle Knudsen, about having a lion in the library, which rules to follow and when to break them. I didn't get any for my eldest as he still has a book report to finish, and knowing him, he'd drop his class-assigned book to devour anything historical I would've gotten for him. (He just borrowed a book about the history of Information Technology from the school library and has been holed up in his room reading, so I gave him two hours' limit for that before he has to start on his book report)

I got a few goodies for myself (see photo)--I've already finished Nora Ephron's I Feel Bad About My Neck And Other Thoughts On Being A Woman, and am now starting on Haruki Murakami's After The Quake.

Hubby and I love it that our sons have the same fascination for books that we both have, but then it should come as no surprise to us, since basically model after what they see everyday, and in our household, books are everywhere. We've made it a point to stock the bottom bookshelves with our sons' books so that they are within easy reach, and find it gratifying whenever their 15 month old cousins would come over and make a beeline for the boys' old baby/ books which we purposely stacked there as well.

The first time we met 14 years ago, that blind date our mutual friend set up (which I kept saying no to at first because I'd already been asked, and had accepted 2 other dates then–I mean, hey, I was single and unattached, you know) became an unforgettable night for me. Over dessert we discussed South American writers and magic realism, and I suppose I left such an impression on him that he actually sent me a special delivery letter the day after to ask me out again. The poor man had been trying to call me all day but couldn't because my phone was on the fritz, and I must be one of the last women in Manila in the 90s to have ever been asked out on a second date by post.

I always knew I had to marry a man who read a lot. I don't think I could've borne it if my partner for life didn't share my love for books. I love it that he introduced me to history and I taught him to appreciate fiction more. I love it that we could both lie in bed in perfectly companionable silence and read our respective tomes while playing footsie under the covers, sometimes exchanging books whenever one of us would come across something funny or fascinating. I love it that our mutual idea of a perfect date night would be to have an early dinner at an interesting place, go for coffee after, then browse for new books at our favorite bookstore.

He gave me John Man, I hooked him up with James Ellroy. I got him reading Arthur Golden's Memoirs of a Geisha long before it ever became a movie while I memorized the recipe for chocolate chaud in Jeffrey Steingarten's It Must've Been Something I Ate. We dreamt of Provence after reading Peter Mayle, pondered the mysteries of the universe after finishing Bryson's A Short History Of Nearly Everything, which we had to hide at the very top shelf because the 9 year old wanted to have a go at it already, and we both think he's too young to be reading about Linnaeus' perversions. (No, I am NOT going to risk him asking in a crowded place why that bloke named a plant Clitoria--we learned this the hard way after he managed to get his hands on a book about the history of Pompeii and proceeded to ask me, at 7, what erotic bacchanalia meant and why Priapus had his thing out like that)

Hubby has this quaintly neurotic habit of keeping track of all the books in the house, sometimes pausing at an empty slot and then asking me if I lent that particular book out, to which I'd say I did. He'd just nod, but a week later would ask if the borrower had finally returned the wayward book. It's as if he couldn't bear to be parted for a long time with any of our collection, hovering over an empty slot until a volume is tucked back in again, safe and sound. I find it oddly endearing.

Some men collect gadgets and gewgaws and expensive toys. My significant other finds sheer joy in managing to snag a copy of the hard-to-find-in-Manila book by Simon Hopkinson called Roast Chicken And Other Stories.

Which makes him just perfect, in my book.

I'm dyslexic. I scream Ho instead of Oh God in the throes of passion.

Whatsherface 52F

2044 posts
2/18/2008 1:54 pm

Knew I liked Paul for a reason besides the fact that he had the good taste to hang on to you.

Also the fact he did not seem fazed by the carnage at the dining table. Or made any comment when I dragged him all over on a food hunt. I think the lady at the Chinese herbal restaurant still misses him ... *waggles eyebrow*

In the immortal words from 6th Sense ... I see stupid people.