Memoirs of a Geisha: A Novel
by Arthur Golden (a native Chattanoogan no less)
Such an inspiring read. Not that it makes one want to run out and become geisha, but because it inspires one to read deeply and to transcend into another version of the world as it could have been. This is Golden's debut novel and it is a book. None of this potential crap - the man can write. (Still reeling from my encounter with Ms. Parkhurst a few entries ago.)
I haven't really intended this blog to become such a laundry list of books I am reading (rereading Beach Music by Pat Conroy right now for the charm of the South as only he can describe it), but books are so essential and vital and I think that the one thing about college that was lacking was the fact that I had almost no time to read for pleasure. There are so many books I've missed. And to make up for it now is marvelously delicious.
This takes me back to the summers of my youth when school was out and I could openly read without the nagging concern for homework always putting a drop of lemony bitterness in my pleasure. From my earliest memories I can still conjure myself lying in bed with a book in the right hand, my left hand lying across my chest in mock flag salute or stomach depending on how high my head was propped by pillows. The other favorite was to lie on the couch with my legs propped on the sofa arm, feet dangling over the edge, book in both hands. To this day, these are my favorite lounging and reading positions. It is as if they were ingrained in my DNA, the way a spider knows how to spin a web without question.
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