On the escalator up toward the terminal at the Atlanta airport on Monday, I suddenly realized that I only had half of a book to read with a two hour flight to Philadelphia plus a long layover and another hour or more flight after that. Shit. What should I do? As I reached the top, I saw that my flight was beginning to board. Shit! My head turned left and right looking for the ubiquitous Hudson News. Where is it?! To the left I see a store front called Buckhead Books. Even better! An actual bookstore! I rush over to see their wares. Shelves upon shelves of books from which to choose!
Wait, the fiction section is 3 bays, mostly face outs. The classics section has approximately 8 titles, 7 of which I’ve already read. The front table only seems to have Scott Turow, Michael Crichton, and John Grisham on it in massive piles. Shit! I scan the bestseller wall. It’s a lot of Christian material plus some of Sookie Stackhouse series. Augh. What about Sacred Hearts by Sarah Dunant? I tried reading one of her previous books The Birth of Venus, but I didn’t care for it.
Some will start calling me a snob here. Fine. Go ahead. I just wanted something a little more solid. I can read a John Grisham novel in about 2 hours. I need a thick book that can entertain me for at least three or more hours. So stop. I know my own tastes.
This is taking forever! I’ve got 3 minutes to pick a book, pay for it, and run to my plane. Finally I spot it. Lurking toward the bottom of the fiction section, which I’m back in front of for a second look I see Michael Chabon’s The Yiddish Policemen’s Union. Finally! Something I haven’t read and actually want to read. Panic over. I grabbed, paid, and ran.
I’m so glad I finally read this novel. It was so good! You might be laughing at me for panicking about all this, but I’ve said it before. Being without a book is torture for me. I know I’m not alone.