вкус книги
It has come to my attention that reading a book I really enjoy should be done at times other than right before I go to sleep, after I've taken a cocktail of drugs designed to knock my brain into sleepy submission.
I used to read constantly. Then I got to where I'd read most of the local library . . . or the library had too many perfumed patrons . . . or the dust from used books bothered me. And I couldn't afford to constantly buy new books. Now, though, I can generally tolerate some things (I can buy new books, for one), so I'm trying to get back into my voracious reading habit. I'm in a whole new town, with a whole new library, a slew of used and new bookstores. And yes, some of the books I've bought are too dusty/catty/perfumey and can't be read in bed. But there are still plenty I can read safely. I need to remember to actually do that.
The nice thing about reading a book slowly? I can savor it. I'm having quite a bit of fun with Eco's Baudolino, but how much of it is true savory bliss and how much is the Zanaflex? More to the point, would the green honey Abdul stashed away work more effectively than the Zanaflex my pharmacist dispenses monthly?
When I read outside of bed, I read rapidly. I savor the book after I've read it. Sure, sometimes I set the book aside and just let my mind wander over a passage I've just read, but I tend to remember to do that only after the book is finished. I read by the page, by the chapter. I never learned to read letter by letter, I learned by the word, line, paragraph. The impression of the total shape is what I consume. And despite being a fast reader, I'm an involved reader. It turns multidimensional not just visually, but completely. Part of that is the way the synaesthesia turns in twists around itself. Being synaesthetic is sometimes like living inside a fractal. Each element generates something that generates yet something else in turn. So not only do the physical shapes of the words generate smells, color, texture, taste--but the images the words evoke also conjure even more depth. The smell of bread has so many layers that it's hard for me to pick out all of them. But suffice it to say that the word bread does not at all smell or feel like the actual food. However, the actual food has a sound to the taste and smell, as well. So I get the synaesthetic aspects of reading, along with the synaesthetic aspects of being an involved reader.
I love reading. It can be overwhelming. Even though a book can be set aside, I have yet to learn how to remove my brain and set it into a jar of preservative for later use. It's easier to get the whole experience all at once, and then sort everything out after the fact. It's also nice to read a few pages at a time and sleep with the fleeting aroma of cardomom while a windchime plays on the tones of the last few paragraphs read before the light goes out.
I used to read constantly. Then I got to where I'd read most of the local library . . . or the library had too many perfumed patrons . . . or the dust from used books bothered me. And I couldn't afford to constantly buy new books. Now, though, I can generally tolerate some things (I can buy new books, for one), so I'm trying to get back into my voracious reading habit. I'm in a whole new town, with a whole new library, a slew of used and new bookstores. And yes, some of the books I've bought are too dusty/catty/perfumey and can't be read in bed. But there are still plenty I can read safely. I need to remember to actually do that.
The nice thing about reading a book slowly? I can savor it. I'm having quite a bit of fun with Eco's Baudolino, but how much of it is true savory bliss and how much is the Zanaflex? More to the point, would the green honey Abdul stashed away work more effectively than the Zanaflex my pharmacist dispenses monthly?
When I read outside of bed, I read rapidly. I savor the book after I've read it. Sure, sometimes I set the book aside and just let my mind wander over a passage I've just read, but I tend to remember to do that only after the book is finished. I read by the page, by the chapter. I never learned to read letter by letter, I learned by the word, line, paragraph. The impression of the total shape is what I consume. And despite being a fast reader, I'm an involved reader. It turns multidimensional not just visually, but completely. Part of that is the way the synaesthesia turns in twists around itself. Being synaesthetic is sometimes like living inside a fractal. Each element generates something that generates yet something else in turn. So not only do the physical shapes of the words generate smells, color, texture, taste--but the images the words evoke also conjure even more depth. The smell of bread has so many layers that it's hard for me to pick out all of them. But suffice it to say that the word bread does not at all smell or feel like the actual food. However, the actual food has a sound to the taste and smell, as well. So I get the synaesthetic aspects of reading, along with the synaesthetic aspects of being an involved reader.
I love reading. It can be overwhelming. Even though a book can be set aside, I have yet to learn how to remove my brain and set it into a jar of preservative for later use. It's easier to get the whole experience all at once, and then sort everything out after the fact. It's also nice to read a few pages at a time and sleep with the fleeting aroma of cardomom while a windchime plays on the tones of the last few paragraphs read before the light goes out.