People ask me where my money goes every pay day. I tell them, "Books!"
A local mall went on sale recently. I ended up buying almost a dozen. Most of them were for friends. For myself, I got Anthony Horowitz's prize-winning Groosham Grange (1988), a book for young readers about "the seventh son of a seventh son." I've read the first few pages and I'm charmed. Whimsy's cool, but British whimsy is in another level.
My next stop at a bargain shop was a gold mine. That's more than what my back, my shopping bag and my resources could handle. Horowitz was in good company. I got Cormac McCarthy's No Country for Old Men, Eugene O'Neill's Long Day's Journey into Night, Heidi W. Durrow's The Girl Who Fell from the Sky, D. H. Lawrence's Four Short Novels, Anne Tyler's Breathing Lessons, Chaim Potok's I Am the Clay and Mario Vargas Llosa's The Cubs and Other Stories.
Heaven.
