I’ve always said that when someone personally recommends a book to you, it’s like they’ve just assigned you homework (Granted, I am guilty of this and will not stop). This isn’t so much the case with blogs as it is with personal interactions–because in that case they can hand you the book. I need it back in two weeks and with a 500-word essay on its themes of isolation and redemption.
Three, maybe four of these such “assigned” books are in my custody that I’ve yet to read. In talking to these friends, the topic of the borrowed books hasn’t been broached since. Does he know I’ve still got his Starship Troopers? It’s been two years. At that point the public library typically stops charging money and hires an assassin.
So I thought this could become a new project for me. If I’m going to commit to reading my Unreads, shouldn’t I start with the ones that aren’t mine?
My mother-in-law-to-be allowed me to take Douglas Coupland’s Eleanor Rigby from her bookcase clearly not knowing the kind of book borrower I am. That’s going to be the first entry in what I’m tentatively calling “The Borrowed Book Penance Tour.” It’s the right thing to do.