BOOK SLUT

When I think about all the books I’ve ever read, all the books I’ve really loved… It’s a pretty distinguished list. A lot of “classic” books... A lot of prestigious books. The type of books that are read reluctantly by pimple faced teenagers in English classes all over the country- year after year.

Of course usually these really are fabulous books. But personally I loved these books, not because they were supposed to be great, because I found them to be eloquent, or touching, or poetic, or whatever the hell I found them to be when I read them.

I've never liked a certain book because it was considered great, I like a book for the way it makes me feel... for the connection I make with the story.

To Kill a Mocking Bird, Grapes of Wrath, Great Expectations… Off the top of my head those are all books that I love, and would fall under that “Classic” category.

There were a lot of “classics” that I didn’t particularly like… The Stranger, Ethan Frome, The Great Gatsby… those books made me want to stab myself in the face with a pencil.

I’m not saying they were bad books, I’m just saying I didn’t like them… I mean, who the hell am I to say that F. Scott Fitzgerald is over rated? I write about “Film Vault Tuesday” and how I swallowed my pride so I could stare at some girl’s cleavage… So I’m certainly not going to throw stones at a guy considered to be the voice of his generation. I’ll just say that I didn’t really “get” his book. It just wasn't really for me, but clearly it was for a lot of other people.

Some books that I have loved which are not as well known, not necessarily obscure, but by no means on some scholar's “classic” list, would be books like The Fuck-Up, Forever, My Secret History, and Stones of Summer.

Of course I'm into a lot of trendier authors as well; Luis Alberto Urrea, Earnest J. Gaines, Nick Hornby, Chuck Klosterman, Richard Russo, and John Irving novels take up a considerable amount of space on my bookshelf.

Then there’s the political stuff… Lots of Bio’s, memoirs, commentarys. Marx, Lenin, Orwell, Che… My dozen or so Chomsky and Howard Zinn books that are falling apart because I have underlined, highlighted, and re-read them again and again…

I've got Sports books; Fab Five, Friday Night Lights, Lenny, Lefty, and the Chancellor, and Fall River Dreams, all come to mind.

I’ve got books that mean something to me personally, like my well worn copy of The Motorcycle Diaries, and my 9th grade copy of Night by Elie Wiesel that never found it‘s way back to my school... and then there is The Corner which followed the year in the life of a West Baltimore neighborhood located about a half mile from where I once lived.

Nobody would be ashamed to own the books I own. They’re good books.

But I have to admit, there is a dark side to my reading habits… Something I don’t often share… A weakness, a “dirty little secret,” if you will.

I just can’t help myself… Sometimes I’ll be walking through the grocery store, my mind occupied with thoughts of Frozen Pizza, 2 percent milk, and Fruity Pebbles… Books are the furthest thing from my mind at the grocery store...

And then I see it, from the corner of my eye. So easy, so exposed, so cheap… so sultry… A John Grisham novel…

I know it’s wrong. I know there is nothing below the surface in a book like this.

There will be no long term relationship with this book… I’ll never read through it again… Never mark the pages, underline the poignant and touching lines, or try to memorize certain passages… I most likely will forget whatever plot line lies beneath that sexy little cover.

Name? What was the name of that book? The Client? No…

The Partner? No.

The Associate?

Maybe it was the Legal Aide? Or the Paralegal… The legal Secretary?

When it comes to a Grisham novel, I don‘t remember trivial things like a title or a plot... All of the books just kind of get all jumbled together in a dark corner of my memory.

The main character’s name? I don’t know, he was a southern lawyer though, I’m pretty sure about that.

When I pick up that grocery store paperback, I know that we’ll have our fun… It will be fast, it will be dirty, and will be done in secret… I won’t recommend the book to anyone, it won’t go on my bookshelf. But still, my shame won't keep me from having a hot and heavy fling with whatever his latest "Legal Thriller" is.

It’s true. I’ve read them all, and I’ll keep reading them… I know I will.

I admit it.

Go ahead, call me what you will... but I can no longer live this double life.

So here it goes, my confession:

John Grisham, I am your dirty little mistress!

Or wait a second, maybe you’re my dirty little mistress… I don’t know, it doesn’t really matter. The point is something dirty is going on between us... and I like it!