Last year, I blew all my savings on building up a second-hand fantasy book collection. If anyone has been to Blossom Book House in Bangalore, they’ll understand the irresistible pull of the overcrowded shelves. The piles of books floating around feel like a stationary planetary system, with each genre generating its own gravity. The children’s fantasy section might as well be a black hole with the number of times it’s swallowed me up.
It doesn’t help that down the street from this chaotic book cosmos is Matteo Coffea, in whose shelves lurk a most decadent chocolate pie. I drool all the way from the door to the cash register with a bag of purchases already weighing down my wallet, then drool all the way back out. Combining these indulgences with self-employment (a.ka. unemployment) and a lot of time to kill yields a recipe for financial disaster, which struck about halfway through September.
When it comes to reading books, guilt isn’t the best motivator. My bookshelf constantly reminds me of my past sins, and begs me to make amends, but I avoid it with guilty eyes and turn to the trash I’m used to.
Well, no more! In December, I nobly donated all my trash to charity because one man’s trash is another man’s trashure. I tackled Angie Sage’s Septimus Heap series to the ground and wrestled it into submission just in time for the new year, and then I bravely opened the sequel to one of my favorite books. Let me tell you something about sequels to amazing books: They usually suck. Matthew Skelton’s Endymion Spring was and will always be my favorite book ever. Cirrus Flux could’ve been a worthy successor, but it was dropped on its head as a baby. Cornelia Funke’s Dragon Rider was second on my list, and now The Griffin’s Feather sits anxiously on my lap, awaiting my judgment.
Whether or not I end up liking The Griffin’s Feather at this point is immaterial because it is now the first book to make it to my new blog, which isn’t really a book blog per se, but more of a general blog that rides on the thrill I get when I finally finish a book. And that’s how the lazy live.
I have no idea how to take or edit a photo, but like Donald, I’m learning as I go while pretending to have known how to all along.
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