Sister Age

Aging happens suddenly, in discrete increments, with a thud, not a gentle creeping up on you like you'd expect. When I turned 40 I suddenly, overnight, gained 10-lbs and grew a belly that wasn't there before; at 45 suddenly I can't read the prescription label. And yes, there are a few prescriptions. Such is age.

Another victim of age is memory. There was a time when mine was a steel trap, I could remember plots and titles and intricate details of everything I read -- now I look at the covers of beloved books and I can't recall anything about them except that I enjoyed them. In some cases, of books that are truly well-thumbed, I see handwriting in the margins and think wow, that sentence made an impression on someone....but that someone, I judge from the handwriting, was me. It must be akin to the onset of Alzheimer's, to know that you know that face (cover) and yet -- sister, daughter, mother, friend? Not at all clear.

As a younger booklover I kept everything I read even if I hadn't liked it much, out of respect for the writer who toiled and I suppose also out of respect for my own self, who also toiled, spending that amount of time and effort getting to know the story. It seemed akin to burning a book to get rid of it in any way, even if that was to give it to someone worthy. After spending some years in the book business this changed. A survival instinct kicked in. There are so very many books you see and to keep all of them makes the apartment ever-smaller. I also shifted thinking on reading itself; I was drawn to the book company I worked with because I was committed to its original mission: connect booklovers to the books, inspire people to read. I embraced this fully and so it seemed somehow selfish to keep a book I'd enjoyed. Better to let it fly free, to inspire another soul. I began (and continue) to distribute everything I love to anyone I think needs a good few hours and inspiration.

But the memory, well, that is getting in the way of things. The books I've loved in the past reside with me still, on my bookshelves or bedside table, and should anyone want a suggestion on what to read (something I am proud to say I am asked quite often) I had a running, physical, literal list of literature to refer to and suggest. Now I'm sketchy. I know I have loved a lot of books so far this year. But, because the books no longer live with me like children I tend to forget who they are -- I loved The Thirteenth Tale but now don't quite remember why; there was another book about something what was it now, it was interesting maybe if I stop thinking about it it will suddenly pop into my head ...It gets all jumbled. So, I think I need to revert for very different reasons, keep my friends close so I can recall them well enough to introduce them to others.

Sister Age, by the way, is a terrific book by the very terrific MFK Fisher. Now, what it's about exactly -- you know I can't tell you. But read it, it's good.