behindtheax

old books

I am reading, “ On Becoming a Novelist,” by John Gardner and I’m finding it fascinating. One of his suggestions was to type out a masterpiece such as James Joyce’s “The Dead,” and so I took “Dubliners” from my bookshelf, opened it to the last story and began to type. I typed three thousand words until my fingers grew tired. I will finish it, and I think I might go onto to typing out “The Boat,” by Alistair Macleod next. Why? Because I think it might help. It is a different feeling than just reading it. When I read it I’m consumed by the story, when I type it I’m consumed by the words, by the structure. I think it is a very good exercise. I figure most already know this exercise but for me it is new.

I love the smell of old books. My copy of Joyce’s “Dubliners”, I bought at a used bookstore a few years back. Its original price was 50c. I bought if for $2.70. It is a 1957 edition from Penguin Books. The pages have aged to the colour of buckskin, spreading to a darker shade along the borders.

If I put my face inside the pages and breathe deep, I am immediately transported back to my parent’s paperback collection, the part of it that they kept in the garage’s loft in an old trunk. It also reminds me of the grocery man who would deliver groceries to our door. He had one of those wide wallets that was attached to his pants by a chain. The milkman came every day but the grocery man only came once a week, and there was always much excitement. And I remember that same smell clung to the grocery man, like it does to old books.

posted by mary j. @ 1:07 PM