A year ago, I spoke firmly to myself, and what I said to myself was this: “You are not to buy another novel until you get through every single one of the many, many books languishing unread on your shelf.” I am afflicted by a terrible condition that takes hold of me when I enter a bookstore, and means I’m unable to leave without a purchase. Unfortunately the only cure for this illness is to lock myself in the house and read and read until my eyes blur. You're correct, it is traumatic and although I’m a non-smoker, I can just tell that it takes the same level of willpower to kick both habits. But, just as smokers one day realise they no longer need a puff, the time came when there was nothing left to read, and I said to myself: “what ho, I’d better remove myself to the first bookshop I see.” So I did. And with a clear conscience I chose a single book.
For a while there, life was great; both care and stress free. Imagine it! Just the one tome to choose from - no more cramming til midnight, urgently trying to finish it in order to get on with the next. The souls of unread books no longer haunted my headspace, oh no. My life had become a leisurely stroll through one great read at a time.
But then an insidious little instrument called the Kindle entered the house. Just one book here and there - no biggie. Everyone knows that free classic = free pass, and of course it doesn’t count if you pay for them either because you can’t actually see them staring at you from the shelf.
The problem grew. I tried to take myself in hand: “These books will always be here” I told myself, “let’s not get carried away.” But as I so often find when I give myself a talking to, I ignored myself. And then I chanced upon a pop up bookshop. A cheap book that I can see and touch with its own luscious cover on proud display? It has me at hello.
Check out these sweet reads I bought on the cheap at the weekend. Seven for the price of two, yo! I can’t even see the wagon I need to get back onto.