Possible Brief Pause

Dear readers, I will be very involved in a (happy) family event over the next three days, so may or may not post on Friday and Saturday; if not before, I will definitely be back with a post on Sunday. Thanks, as always, for reading this blog (and do please tell your reading friends about it!). -- Stephanie

Browsing in Libraries

I have praised libraries and librarians here before; today I write specifically about the pleasures of browsing in libraries. I like browsing in bookstores as well, especially when I want to see what is new. But browsing in libraries has its own particular joys. A few days ago, for example, after what had been a while, I was in our university library with a little time to spare. I started by looking for books by and about Sarah Orne Jewett, about whom I posted on May 2, 2010; I thought I would enjoy rereading some of her work. After I found what I wanted, I remembered that I had been thinking lately about a trio of British women writers who have some similarities, whom I hadn't read for many years, and whom I had been idly considering revisiting: Muriel Spark, Ivy Compton-Burnett, and Iris Murdoch. But I had just read a review of a new, rather unflattering biography of Spark; I also remembered that when I reread Spark's "The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie" a few years ago, I liked it much less than when I originally read it in my twenties. So I made the perhaps shallow decision to skip rereading Spark for the time being. I then found, browsed through, and picked up a couple of novels each by the other two writers. (These may well appear in future posts here.) Then I happened to see on the shelf, very near to the Murdoch books, several titles by Penelope Mortimer. I had read novels by her years ago, and had a vague memory of enjoying them, so decided to choose two novels by her as well. As I passed by various shelves, I stopped for a minute or two here and there to look at various other books, but since I had a mini-tower of books in hand already, I decided I had better stop adding to the tower, and went downstairs to check out my chosen books. It is hard to explain how much pleasure I got from my leisurely roaming through the stacks, stopping here and there, making pleasant decisions about WHICH Murdoch, WHICH Mortimer, to choose, holding various books - some quite old, each with its own history of former readers - in my hands as I skimmed through their pages, reading tantalizing passages here and there, even smelling whiffs of the particular scent of books, and knowing that there were so many more possibilities, so many more books yet to read. What a delicious hour that was!