Engrossed in a Book

The apartment where I currently live is full of books. Most of them are not novels, but works of literature, from famous Latin American authors like Borges or Paublo Nerudo. Collections of short stories and poems line the shelves. I’ve been enchanted by this impressive collection, but haven’t made much progress through the pages. I attempted a book of short stories in Spanish and was convinced the author had written a story about a giant whale that fell from the sky and landed in the middle of Buenos Aires, spewing blood down the streets. Charming, no? Really, I couldn’t understand the book very well, although I finished it. Since I’m here I’ve felt obligated to read in Spanish and so I’ve labored through books and magazines, but haven’t found that quiet respite that a good book brings to it’s reader.

Then a few days ago I was perusing the shelves and an ancient little novel caught my eye. Around the World in 80 Days. I had read it as a teenager, and I quickly grabbed it and hid it away, because not only did it promise a little adventure, but it’s in English. So I’m reading this divine little story and it’s completely enthralled me. I’ve been reading on the bus, on the subte, as I wait for my classes, standing in line waiting in the incomparably slow government offices… I can’t let it go. Because it’s an absolute treat. It’s completely delighted me. I’m almost done now and I can’t help but mourn the end of the book, because I want to keep reading forever. This tiny, old tattered book has returned me to my childhood, when I learned the secret of walking and reading as a teenager because I could never put down my book. The bus driver who took me to middle school would worry I’d fall down the bus steps because my eyes wouldn’t leave the pages. Truly, a good book is a tiny blissful blessing. Loves it!