Reading

It's true I am a voracious reader. As my husband likes to point out, it's not simply the volume, but the breadth of what I read that he finds astounding. It is one of those annoying traits that I can, and usually do, refer to something I'd read when we're in discussion about whatever topic. What's worse for him is when I, not only refer to the article or book, but then tell him he should read it as well. My need to read, or always have things to read, can sometimes feel more like a compulsion than simply a life long passion.

If I had nothing to read, I would read the box of any food item from my cupboard, taking in the ingredient and nutritional information. I know I've read more than many people I've met, except for my professors from grad school. Actually, it was the first time I'd met people, who could recommend books to me.

In any given week, I will have plowed through the current New Yorker, the Economist, the daily paper, the Sunday New York Times (which gets delivered on Saturdays here), a quick perusal of the Wall Street Journal and through the two or three books currently on my nightstand. If I'm getting my nails done, you can count People and UsWeekly into that list. I also purchase Vogue and Elle, not only for the pictures, but to actually read the articles. I've been known to rip out articles from those glossy magazines of female aspirations and mail them to friends who might find them interesting. Yes, it is a sickness. The one thing I don't read, which I'm quite proud, is any book that sounds remotely like self-help. Pop psychology with titles like "Chicken Soup for the Soul," never, thankfully, enter our home, ever.

When I was in LA, I had to do my reading during the day, usually at lunch. If I wasn't completely exhausted from the day, I could read before bed. Despite the very little time during the day for reading, I did still manage to read more than most people I knew--not a real challenge in LA.

However, now I find I can read on any bus or subway, which means I can get through the New Yorker in two days versus the five it took me in LA. What does this mean? It means I'm reading more, faster, including books. And since we have such limited space for books, this is a challenge, indeed. I try to avoid going to book stores weekly, but allow myself a monthly visit, which usually means sheer gluttony as I make my way through each section.

This Saturday was a designated book store day. After getting my son and husband off to their activity, I headed to Barnes and Noble in Union Square. I prefer the Strand, but the nice people from Barnes had sent me a coupon, which I'd carted around with me for over a week. The first thing that struck me was how busy it was inside. True, the weather is cold, so an afternoon spent at Barnes and Noble can be highly enticing. Unlike the Barnes and Noble at the Grove, it wasn't the magazine section or the cafe that was the center of activity. But rather, each section had people browsing, or better, reading a page of a book that had caught their attention. You know that stand and read position people take at bookstores or libraries.

I made my way through each section, finding the new book by J.M Coetzee and Bernhard Schlink among the treasures. It was, all in all, an intensely satisfying day at the book store. As I left with my bag, I emerged from the doors of Barnes and Nobles, falling into step with others headed east. Now, the question remains how I am going to store all of these new books that seem to enter our apartment on any given month. For me, it is a good worry to have since the alternative would mean scouring box labels for insight and inspiration. Even for me, this would border on the absurd, signaling a long stay at a place where I would make arts and crafts out of Popsicle sticks.