I bought a book today.
I bought a book today in a way that is becoming more and more unusual--in fact, I can't remember buying a book in this way for several years. Even when I'm merely browsing these days, I know what I ought to be looking for.
I had never heard of this book before. I had never heard of its author. I merely saw its spine--a singular spine, at that--on a shelf at the bookstore and since I liked first, its color, then second, its title, I pulled it out to take a look.
I liked the cover, so I turned it over to read that back. Unsigned blurbs from Kirkus, The Providence Journal and the LA Times. Encouraged by the "flavor of Lorrie Moore,"a Kirkus reviewer had found in the author, I opened the book and read the first paragraph. I liked it.
I carried the book with me as I wandered through the rest of the shelves. Periodically I opened it and read a bit of dialogue, a line or two from the lengthier paragraphs.
After noticing that a character is reading the Combray section of Swann's Way, I took the book to the front of the store and purchased it.
When I come home from the bocce tournament this evening, I'm going to ignore the stacks of library books and all my other books and begin reading it.
Because I should trust my own browsing instincts more often.
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