Thursday, 23 October 2014

Restless reading

When we were all still living under the same roof, I was impressed by the way my sister read books: by stack. What's the point of reading Proust, after all, if you don't carry more than one volume of the Recherché with you? At least, as a reference tool, to remember what good old Marcel was ranting about 400 pages before.
She seemed to apply the same methodology to pretty much any kind of literature: from fantasy to Kundera via King, the Adri in my memory has always more than one book with her. And she leaves books scattered around the flat, open at the page she arrived to.
I didn't know how she could do it, I found it extremely distracting. Plus I didn't want any crease to form on my books, so the notions of leaving books over the sofa, on the table, on the heaters, etc. was not that appealing to me.

Things have changed recently. I blame it on the lack of decent bookshelves: I already told myself I was going to get a decent book case hundreds of time, but I keep postponing the purchase. There's always something more interesting to do on the weekend: like reading a book, for example.
Situation has worsened in the past months and now the space in the flat assigned to the books is in utter chaos.
I blame Murakami too. After finishing reading his latest novel, I found myself unable to be linear in my readings: I seem unable to start and finish a novel in a straightforward line.
I start reading a book, then I put it aside.
Open another book, read few lines, leave it on the bed to get tangled with the sheets and be found again only when I change them.
Start re-reading a childhood book, forget it in the office drawer for a whole month, while wondering at the same time where I left it.
I jump from novel to short story, unable to focus on more than 2 chapters in a row.

Some months ago I'd find this whole situation deeply unsettling. I would have probably headed straight to Ikea to get a decent bookcase. However, not only I got better things to do in my spare time now, but I also don't want to change things. I don't want to get the shelves, because part of me doesn't want them in the flat: I don't want to invest money and time, I don't want to settle in.

For somebody that always wanted to settle, to be balanced and at peace with herself and the world, it's ironic how much I've come to appreciate my restlessness. I don't want to settle in. When the "in" is so shitty, fake and grey, I welcome the mess and lack of peace.
So no Ikea trip for this flat anytime soon (for the little home in Turin, however this is whole different story): I will enjoy the chaos for some more time, waiting for the books I started reading to eventually turn up somewhere in the flat.

1 comment:

  1. Zapping: a family issue spreading new branches since 1975