If asked to describe myself, I would say I was bookish and shallow. I’m not sure what my friends would say. Maybe they would call me a book geek. I hope they would say I’m cool. But I certainly read more than is good for me. I think that reading is the only true form of escapism that is available to us, and when I think back over my life I see real events interwoven with the books I was reading at the time. Alice in Wonderland to pass the time at the laundrette. Crying at Captain Corelli’s Mandolin on the ferry to Crete. Bumping into people and things when I couldn’t unglue my eyes from Harry Potter long enough to do important things, like walk to work.
When I meet someone who says they don’t read, or in the case of my ex boyfriend, they only read non-fiction books on Hitler and the Nazis, I want to grab them by the shoulders and shake them, then immediately begin attacking them, rapid-sniper-fire-style, with book recommendations. Until they slowly begin to back away, and I’m left on my own again in the corner of the party. Probably reading. I always have a book in my bag.
…anyway, i figured that if I had somewhere to spew my book lust, I might fit in better socially, so I’m going to have a go at this blog. Oh, and I have a Twitter for my whingeing and a Tumblr for my shallowness.