I’ve been asked to participate in a odd sort of book club.
But now, I need to figure out what book to hand over. It’s very difficult.
And I discovered that I have itty bitty piles of books all over my dang apartment.
Like a miniature landscape of my brain bits.
The metropolis of Deborah Tannen overlooking the living room rug is near the
very small stretch of farmland filled with guides to astrology,
What Not To Wear, and the SATC viewbook of all the seasons.
In my home office lie little towns of alternative literature and research.
One city with three towers: David Sedaris and Toni Morrison and Salman Rushdie.
Not to mention the skyline in my bookcase of the short paperbacks.
Siddhartha, The Color Purple, Fahrenheit 451, Animal Farm, 1984, The Idiot.
I receive sideways glances from e.e.cummings’ biography,
Paul Reiser’s Couplehood & Babyhood,
and… The Truth About Diamonds by Nicole Richie.
Who knows what kind of craziness is at my campus office.
“They” say you can learn a lot about a person by, say, looking into their fridge
or looking at what they have on their iPod,
but I ask… What books do YOU have? And where are they located?
