Wednesday, November 21, 2007

Books I Did Not Check Out

So, we went to the library today, Minuteman. I have a book on reserve that is listed as being in transit to somewhere, and I was really hoping that it was on the way to me, and would arrive today as a Thanksgiving miracle. Nope. (This is a problem with the Minuteman website--you can't tell where you are in the queue for a book, or if your book is on the way.)

I packed up my returns and realized that this turn would put me out of debt with the Minuteman system. Nothing due. My first reaction to this, of course, is to run to the website and immediately start picking out books to check out. But through the magic of self-restraint (and support from Mr. Michael), I successfully did not check any books out.

What books, you may wonder, was I tempted to get? From what was I restraining myself? Good question. Well, first there's Giraffe, which Kris recommended. It looks extremely interesting, and is the story of the largest herd of giraffes held in captivity, in a city behind the Iron Curtain in the sixties. Then, one day, the secret police came to the zoo and shot all the giraffes. No one ever knew why, but this author has either found out or speculated. The story of the herd is told from different points of view--that of a scientist, a caretaker, a tourist, even a giraffe. I'm so excited to read it.

I was going to look at The Artist's Way, which looks eerily crunchy-granola-get-in-touch-with-your-inner-moon-child to me, but which has been touted as having a good program for getting you focused on your creative side. I have a hard time doing good programs attached to weird philosophies, but I'm kind of eager to try it.

To Say Nothing of the Dog. That's just sitting there--Medford has a few copies of it, and I know the author, Connie Willis, is very good. I've had it in my back pocket for one of those days when I go to Medford looking for something to check out. Sadly, this is any time I go to the library, which is a little crazy and wrong. Really, it's wrong.

I was looking for a good Wodehouse book, but I really only like the Jeeves and Wooster books, and they have a remarkably sad collection of those--two novels, no short stories. What's up with that?

Then, when I was there, I saw a book called Till We Have Faces, by C.S. Lewis. I have no idea what it is or what it's about, but the title, author, and two lines from a random page in the middle all conspired to have me intrigued. Anyone know anything about that book?

So, those are the books I didn't check out tonight. Pain, agony, frustration! But also pride. I bet this is what it's like to quit smoking....well, for one day. I'm going off the wagon soon, though; I can feel it.

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