A book can never disappoint you!

Is it reckless to read so many books in a row?

At home in Australia it is officially the summer holidays. Once the wrangle of Christmas wraps up and the impending new year, the relaxation can settle for January. The only major decision is what books to read and that small conundrum whether to read something beautiful once again or start fresh. I float between possibilities. You see, I like re-reading certain books because it gives me a chance to think about the work from a new perspective.

Sometimes the writer evokes something familiar, almost wistful and I like that feeling. Sometimes a sweet memory rises when I was laying on the beach watching my kids play in the sun. Sometimes it’s just nostalgia from a train trip from Siena to Florence and the book I tossed aside to look at the view.

A favourite book can take you there. My dishevelled copy of The Road to Le Tholonet: A French Garden Journey by Monty Don is one of those rare books. Strange that sitting by the sea was the perfect place to read about the lavender and cypress garden La Louve in Provence. But that is how it goes.

I once interviewed an Italian language teacher Cinzia Ferri about her work and the books she reads. She writes long emails sharing her thoughts on the text she reads. I liked her subtle dry humour but more so in the interview she said something to me that made me laugh a lot. She said, “a book can never disappoint you”.

I wrote her words on a post it note in a black pen and stuck it in my diary. I have thought about that statement a lot. Obviously if the book is rubbish it is a disappointment, but she was not exactly talking about a book per se. She was talking about life, people and relationships.

Yes, books can fill the hole that people dig. Yes, when life disappoints us there is always a book to get lost in. A book is a wonderful escape.

I remember when my Dad was sick and I was worried about his health and the issues we all face when our parents are vulnerable, sick or aging. I made a strange decision to read a book a day. It was a crazy idea. But it was a good fix. It helped me a lot.

I had just taken one week off work to have a needed break. On day one the call from the hospital came at 9am and suddenly I was back in limbo. The myriad of books on my shelf were wonderful companions. I didn’t pick large books. My mission was simple, they had to be read only and not listened to while in the middle of chores or gardening. That meant making time to sit and read.

It was the beginning of a rough ride. But I do remember sitting on the plane reading Only in Naples by Katherine Wilson and pondering the south of Italy. I remember the beauty and sadness of Ruth Cracknell’s Journey from Venice.

I walked to a local cafe and ordered a Portuguese tart and cappuccino and read The Woman Who Says No: Francoise Gilot on her life without Picasso by Malte Herwig. It was the middle of winter but the light was beautiful that day. There was a significant moment when I realised that books were not just portals of learning and discovery but could activate something deep in me that nothing else could touch.

I blogged about that moment and the forty books I read over fifty days. It was quite the quest. I think a good obsession while the unpredictable led the way. Dad got better for a while. I didn’t know my life was a mess and he had six months to go. I didn’t know the memory of him and the books would linger. Sweet, stolen and frustrating moments that were tinged with beauty, romance and pleasure.

Notes from the original blog post:

“Is it reckless to read so many books in a row?”

“If you are paralysed with fear, it’s a good sign”

“In solitude I stare at the glass vessel and the seven gerbera faces in the vase”

“A book of poetry is serious. You cannot read just one line and move on”

“I need a circuit breaker”