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At a time when there doesn’t seem to be much to look forward to, it’s important to find pleasure in little things.
For me, small but potent joy comes in the form of the daily Wordle puzzle, the happy-feet animation on my Fitbit that alerts me when I get 10,000 steps, and the email from the Winnipeg Public Library telling me one of the books I have on hold has arrived.
The kick the latter delivers is almost illicit. It doesn’t seem possible that it’s so easy: think of a book you want to read, put a hold on it and it’s yours, as soon as others are done with it. It’s so civilized and yet it feels almost too good to be true.
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It can also deliver a bit of anxiety. Having recently decided to stay away from new bestsellers and plumb the catalogue, I went overboard — forgetting that less-in-demand titles will arrive more quickly — and suddenly had six books to pick up all at once (oops, seven: just got an email that P.J. Vernon’s psychological thriller Bath Haus, a long-awaited bestseller, is in.)
(Even though the library has done away with overdue fees, I am racked with guilt if I keep a book out “too long” — even ones that are renewable, because I am a rulesy nerd — so expect more book recommendations and fewer TV picks in the coming weeks.)
My mum was a children’s librarian (she and my father actually met when he came into her branch to ask for a book recommendation for his young nephew) and she made sure I was a library kid.
At one point, I think while I was home with chicken pox, I became obsessed with Andrew Lang’s Fairy Books, a series of 12 collections of fairy tales from around the world, each with a different coloured cover. I loved how violent and bloody and vengeful the tales were — nothing like the sanitzed Disney versions.
I still remember how excited I was when my mother came home with the Olive edition, featuring stories from Turkey, India, Armenia and the Sudan; it just seemed like magic to me that these books kept coming when I needed them.
I also went through an Ed McBain and Dick Francis phase; those two prolific crime writers provided a seemingly endless string of titles, comforting in their formula. And I devoured Monica Dickens’ works: the great-granddaughter of Charles Dickens came to Winnipeg to officially open the second-floor addition to the St. James branch in 1970 and it carried most of her novels, lovely, character-driven British stories that are criminally underrated (and sadly no longer available at the library).
While it’s always a thrill to discover a new author you like, it’s even better to discover one who has a deep catalogue. While waiting for the library to catch up to The Queen’s Gambit craze and order in some copies, I delved into some of author Walter Tevis’s other works and loved them (The Man Who Fell to Earth is a beautiful, delicate sc-fi story that’s much better than the film).
My next drop-everything book is Station Eleven author Emily St. John Mandel’s Sea of Tranquility (it’s due out in March; I’m No. 8 on the hold list). Until then, hold my calls: I’ve got some reading to do.
Got a favourite author who never lets you down? Something else that delivers a jolt of joy in trying times? Tell me about it at jill.wilson@winnipegfreepress.com.
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