Birthdays are the best of times when your primary gifters are bibliophiles and the package arrives on your birthday. My parents will gift me – usually money – since I am known to be picky; but my Brother and Sister-in-law, consummate gift givers, inevitably send a book – as does my cousin.
We are readers, thinkers, cerebral. We trade ideas. Theirs are stronger. I usually lose. Except when it is my birthday or Christmas and then I reel in the catch. Not one, but two books this year. Two books arrived right on the day.
I opened them hastily and devoured the note. “Happy Birthday, Cherry, Signature was a pleasant surprise to me…Though science wasn’t the the focus, she (Elizabeth Gilbert) had an impressive grasp on the field….Hope the other one is good. Women at King’s English love it.”
Almost reverently, I opened the cover of The Signature of All Things, and began reading immediately. It was my Friday, so reading irresponsibly was an option. Good thing I had flexible time, because it was a page-turner. I had to agree with my S-I-L, “It pulled me in, pushed me away, called me back…” Deftly written, with succinct word choice, I got just enough character sketch to profoundly understand the players. Fully enlightened with authentic Victorian vocabulary, social customs, sexuality, ideals and intellectual thought, the writer takes an epic anthropological and historical safari through Darwinism, abolitionism, 19th century religion, and nods forward to Freud’s eventual analysis of human relationships.
Next day I met my cousin for lunch. She handed me a gift bag commenting something about the women in her book club and reminding me I could exchange the book if I already had it. I never exchange books, I just gift them on to someone else. I knew I had not read it, but the cover looked vaguely familiar, The Storied Life of A.J. Fikry.
Back in my room I continued my mesmerizing read of Signature. There were times I wept and times I wanted with everything in me to resist the inexorable magnetism toward penultimate redemption, to hope against hope for a relational ending different than the inevitable. Abruptly, came a moment of suspense. Page 344 was followed by page 377. Unannounced cliff-hanger! Idly, I toyed with the idea of turning to the second book. But this would not do. Signature, is the type of book that stays with you, lives in your head while you go about your work and play. Nevertheless, I unsheathed the other book. Sure enough, it was twin to the one in the gift bag from my cousin. I switched off the light and fell asleep.
For the next few days, I took a reader’s hiatus. Summer being the busy season at work, there is not much opportunity for reading once you allow for overtime.
Following work one evening, I grabbed a quick dinner to go and stopped at Barnes Noble intending to find and read the missing 33 pages. There on the bargain shelf – for under $6.00 – was the book I sought. Hearing my story of missing pages, the clerk surmised that was the reason for the crate of hasty discounts. We checked the pages. Intact. What is the harm in purchasing a duplicate book? Already, I knew it to be the most well-written book of the decade – though not my favorite.
Yesterday was a holiday. I opened The Storied Life of A.J. Fikry at 5:00 pm. I closed it at 11:15 pm. I am not sorry I own two copies. One will go on loan immediately.
Have you read these two books? You should. Immediately. Which shall I loan you first?