The Giddiness Of Indecision

Sometimes the most memorable adventures arise from not knowing where to turn first. More often than not, this exciting quandary arises when travelling:

"Should we take this treasure-laden passageway in the souk or that other one?"

"Should we keep driving south to San Gimignano or scrap it and head for the Dolomites?"

"Should we be safe and order the chicken kebabs or live on the edge and brave the sheep intestines? After all, when in Istanbul..."

But on the home front, the thrills of equivocation can also loom large, especially when faced with a glossy stack of brand new, untouched, waiting-to-be-pored-over monthlies.

(Sunday lunch, The Kenmore Arms)

Piero and Luca were off doing something testosteroney, the house was quiet and I found myself craving a pulse-quickening dose of paper. I fixed myself my new favorite lunch (wok-sauteéd sugar snap peas with hoisin, grilled chicken burger topped with peanut satay sauce -- cooking time twelve minutes start to finish, including cleaning the pans), I fanned out the magazines and while I ate, deliberated with no inconsiderable gravitas over which one to open first. Each promised lush locales, stylish adventures and a rich reservoir of inspiration.

Would I plunder The World of Interiors and lose myself in some Austrian nobleman's castle retreat? Or leaf through Vogue or W and live vicariously through some indie designer's Corsican getaway? Or drool over Gourmet's Old Master-like spreads of cuisine as fine art?

There were no wrong answers because, just as in travelling, all paths lead to knowledge.

Who says domesticity doesn't still provide the occasional adrenaline rush of blood to the head?

Once Bitten, Twice Smitten

The first time I read an excellent work, it is to me just as if I have gained a new friend; and when I read over a book I have perused before, it is like meeting an old one.

Oliver Goldsmith (1730-1774)

One of the only consolations to finishing an insanely wonderful book is knowing that one day you can re-read it. Of course, your experience the second time around won't be the same. How could it be? You will have changed, your world will have changed and the mystery of not knowing what lies on the next page will be gone. 

But that doesn't mean the thrill of discovery is over. 

To me, re-reading is like the difference between a whirlwind courtship and a long-term relationship: Once you have graduated from the tyranny of uncertainty, you are free to embark on a search for deeper personal meaning.  A book read again -- and again -- can continue to illuminate, comfort, and remind you why you fell in love with it in the first place. 

What books have you re-read for pleasure or are looking forward to re-reading?

Here are a few I'm ready to dive back into:

Middlemarch by George Eliot

The Woman In White by Wilkie Collins

Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell by Susanna Clarke

Vanity Fair by W. M. Thackaray

Our Mutual Friend by Charles Dickens

Jigsaw by Sybille Bedford

Beware of Pity by Stefan Zweig

Diary of a Nobody by George Grossmith

And I'd Do It Again by Aimee Crocker

Paper Beats Scissors

"Wear the old coat and buy the new book."

(Austen Phelps, 1820-1890)

When I was in London recently, I didn't buy anything that was cut, sewn or stitched, which I think is the first time ever that I've come home without indulging in some sort of sartorial fix. I did purchase some books, however. Thirteen, actually. And Luca bought twelve.

The night before we flew home to LA, the stack of tomes had grown to an alarming height on the desk in our hotel room. Using my expert packing tactics, I managed to cram most of them into my suitcase but when the zipper threatened to throw a fit, I buried the rest in Luca's.  The Divine Italian muttered something about bricks the next morning when he heaved the suitcases into the cab, but I busied myself with looking for my sunglasses and pretended not to hear.

Here are my new companions in their new Hollywood digs, with titles below...

1. Lolly Willowes, Sylvia Townsend Warner

2. Three Men and a Boat, Jerome K. Jerome

3. Diary of a Pilgrimage, Jerome K. Jerome 

4. All Passion Spent, Vita Sackville West

5. The English, Jeremy Paxman

6. Craven House, Patrick Hamilton

7. Two People, A. A. Milne

8. Voices from Dicken's London, Michael Paterson

9. The Uncommon Reader, Alan Bennett

10. The House by the Churchyard, J. Sheridan Le Fanu 

11. Widow Barnaby, Fanny Trollope 

12. The Haunted Hotel, Wilkie Collins 

13. Rhapsody in Green: The Garden Wit and Wisdom of Beverley Nichols 

And here are Luca's:

1. Read Me and Laugh, Gaby Morgan

2. Horrid Henry Robs the Bank, Francesca Simon

3. Horrid Henry and the Abominable Snowman, Francesca Simon

4. A Hat Trick for Horrid Henry, Francesca Simon

5. Legend of Captain Crow's Teeth, Eoin Colfer

6. Digory the Dragon Slayer, Angela McAllister

7. Secret Agent Jack Stalwart, Elizabeth Singer Hunt

8. Scream Street: Fang of the Vampire, Tommy Donbavand

9. Beast Quest: Torgor the Minotaur, Adam Blade

10. Beast Quest: Sepron the Sea Serpent, Adam Blade

11. Beast Quest: Epos the Flame Bird, Adam Blade

12. Beast Quest: Trillion the Three-Headed Lion, Adam Blade

I highly recommend this one. Luca begs me to read it aloud to him when he's in the bath, which of course I am more than happy to oblige. His favorite poem so far is "The Day I Got My Finger Stuck Up My Nose" by Brian Patten, which he can now recite by heart, complete with dramatic effects. Despite the cautionary message of the poem, his finger has yet to leave that particular refuge, but I'm still hoping.

Here's the reading nook I had built in his bedroom. 

I filled the little side shelves with some of my favorite childhood books like "The Phantom Tollbooth", "The Last of the Really Great Whangdoodles" and "The Wolves of Willoughby Chase", but he hasn't reached for them yet. Maybe when he's exhausted his "Beast Quest" obsession, but I think they publish them as quickly as he devours them; at last count, there were 18 different titles on Amazon. 

I know I need to remind myself that half the adventure of reading is in the choosing -- the narrowing down of endless possibilities to the author whose story you want to discover. If I want Luca to love books as much as I do, he needs to embark on his own journey and I need to keep quiet and let him.

Ooh, but it's hard.

Words are my drug

When I've had a stressful day, sometimes all it takes to feel better is to peruse my bookshelves. Glancing at all those old friends is so reassuring.  A friend once told me that he thinks I read too much.  I'm not going to disagree.

The minute I finish one book, I have a new one in my hands.  I've always been that way.
Sometimes I'm afraid I'll never have time to read all the books I want to.  This has led to me adopting a new philosophy regarding book completion:  I'll give a book 100 pages.  If I am not absorbed in it by then, out it goes.  I know this strikes some as heresy (my dear friend Hillary fervently commits to finishing every tome she opens) but to me, life is too short.  One must read for joy.  Would you date someone again and again if you knew you had no real interest in them?  No.  Books are like people; some you click with, some you don't.  I'm searching for soulmates.  How about you?