now, let's talk about books.
first of all, i am a proud re-reader, something i know certain people find incomprehensible. there are books that i have read several times, and know i will come back to again and again. books, like music, evoke certain emotions. there are books that i know will tint my mood in a certain way, move me in a certain emotional direction, and so i pick them depending on what it is that i want them to do for me. much like music which i keep in mood-related playlists (mainly minor key, as i so... ahem... eloquently wrote in my drunk post), i reach for old books knowing exactly where they will take me.
new books are exciting in the not knowing, though i have found that i can depend on certain authors to maintain a fairly predictable emotional timbre. what i love, though, is how detailed, how specific that timbre can be. when i think of certain books, i know the exact shade or tonality of mood that they will elicit. for someone who has a history of depression, this has always been a godsend. instead of taking drugs or drinking
there is a light or darkness, a particular palette, a warmth or coolness, a sense of space or enclosure that each book brings. there are warm cozy books; books that spin the universe out of control just a little bit; books that take me outside of myself so that i don't want to return; books that scratch an itch; books whose words are like poetry, finely hewn and polished to a high gloss shine. i go through times where i read voraciously and times when i slow down. sometimes i read fluff, i admit it. but one of the main requirements i have of a book is that it is written with some degree of respect for language. genre is secondary to quality, without a doubt.
and there is that indescribable joy in finding a perfectly crafted sentence - each word unmistakably in its place, in the right order, falling like stones into a pool, creating ripples of pleasure.
i have been lazy with my reading in recent years, not really challenging myself as much as i could, but i have also decided that life being short, i shall read for the pure enjoyment of it. how do you read?
*yes, yes, i ought to have picked up a book instead of that third (or fourth) glass of wine...