The Book Geek, numero uno

Yesterday, at the library. My first hit in weeks. I threw myself at the shelves of books like a drowning man hurls himself at the shore.

One hour, browsing, reading, replacing, winnowing down with sighs of regret the armload of books I had hauled off down to the library limit on my card. Arthur C. Clarke vs. Philip K. Dick? Decisions decisions. Both lost to Heinlein. A.S. Byatt tempts for a minute, but then the blurb says that it was the last book in the quartet. Although I am fairly confident that it can be read as a standalone, I’m a purist when it comes to literature. No Byatt for me. I stop briefly before Byatt's "The Djinn in the Nightingale's Eye", but I've already read it twice and I still remember the stories too vividly to enjoy it again as it deserves.

I cruise the stacks hopefully at the shelf marked "PRA". No new Pratchetts, unfortunately. I wasn't expecting it, but I'm still disappointed. There have been times where the gleaming uncracked newness of a Pratchett hardcover gleams like a beacon of humour and wit amongst the chaff, and I fight the urge to RUN to the shelf, lest I alert another Pratchett-lover to the existence of the book. I casually saunter over, then when the spine of the book is finally within reach, I grab it and resist the urge to scream like a little bitch and do victory dances. Yes, I'm embarrassing in public.

I'm torn between Laurell K. Hamilton and Laurell K. Hamilton. Another Anita Blake or a wholly new series? Tough one. I ration myself on the Blake. There are only so many books. (btw, April, if you're reading, have you tried Hamilton? Because I think that you'll really, really like it)

A new Louis de Berniere calls out to me seductively from the shelves, clad in a bright pink and green bookjacket. A lesser mental victory dance is performed. I stuff my literary treasures jealously into my bag.

Today, a phrase from one of the books, about how Miles Davis "braids wild flames of jazz" in a smoky bar.

How fabulous is that?