There are very few people to whom I will lend my books. Only one of five sisters can borrow my books. Only one extended family member, four friends, and one of three children. I don’t lend my books to my husband at all.
Why? Only the most responsible people – people who will return the book in the condition in which it was lent – are allowed to borrow my books. Even then there is much hesitation. And rules. Many, many rules.
I lent one of my most precious hard-back novels to my niece, who I adore and with whom I share an infinity for great storytelling, and she cried while reading it, tears dripping down her cheeks to the pages of the novel (I hope you caught how slowly I typed those last six words. If not, read it again). *Very long pause and a blank stare* That’s right. Never again has she touched one of my books; although, when I come to those pages, after the initial whence from the pages being slightly blemished, I think of my niece being genuinely moved to tears by the voice and anguish of the character. Those little blemishes left by her emotional response are very precious to me.
Still, there is the whence.
Here is the list. Don’t ask to borrow them. That’s what the library is for. Better yet, buy them and start your own collection.
- These is My Words – NancyTurner
- The Intuitionist – Colson Whitehead
- Reading Lolita in Tehran – Azar Nafisi
- The Poisonwood Bible – Barbara Kingsolver
- To The Lighthouse – Virginia Woolf
- Edgar Sawtelle – David Wroblewski
- Far From the Madding Crowd – Thomas Hardy
- The Life of Pi – Yann Martel
- The Monks of Tibhirine – John Kiser
- The Crying of Lot 49 – Thomas Pynchon
- Invisible Man – Ralph Ellison
- Second Glance – Jodi Picoult
- The Castle of Otranto – Horace Walpole
This is not an extensive list of books by any means. I am always interested in recommendations, and I promise I will not ask to borrow any of them. I have my own.