Today when I tried to put a hold on a library book, like it was 1980, I got a message saying my membership had expired. Perhaps because I hadn't used the library since approximately 1980.
The problem with libraries is the pressure. You borrow a book, you need to take it back. Or renew it, or pay fines. There's no scope for the kind of ponderous reading in which I now specialise. There's no scope for getting tied up with something else—or several something elses—when you're halfway through the borrowed book.
Where's the pleasure in that? I currently have five books on the go—well, four, since I finished one this morning. Each is different and suits a different mood. Only one of them (which I won't name, since I'm sure you can guess it) was compelling enough to demand daily reading.
So why am I returning to the library after all this time? Because the book I wanted costs $50 second-hand. That's it.
Of course, it's not impossible that this renewal of my borrowing privileges might inspire some additional reading. A little something more from David Sedaris, whose back catalogue is too numerous to purchase? Perhaps the latest from Jared Diamond?
Time will tell, friends. While the thought of borrowing, and having books overdue, and paying fines, fills me with an inexplicable terror, goddamn it, I want to read about bunyips.
What can you do?
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