The P. and I went to the Fort branch of Fully Booked last night—just that one this time, we promise—for Comic Book Day. We’ve never been in it for the freebies, as I’ve always gravitated toward collected volumes of comics; we were in it for the 20% off for all comic books, and for the 50% shelves that’s always yielded for us good books we’d never have tried otherwise. Naturally, I was looking for more Batman. And since they opened a Tintin shop, I got distracted by that too. I foresee great and abiding hunger until my next paycheck rolls around.
These are my first purchases in more than a month. There’s been a gaping hole in my already-listless life, ever since I (realized) that I had stopped reading as manically, as consumedly, as I’ve always have. Scarily: This has extended to book acquisition. I’ve stopped going to bookstores; whenever I think about spending hours in one, I just think, But I’m never going to read that anyway. It’s terribly, nauseatingly pathetic. But we soldier on.
So. Tintin first. Basically: Put something nice and new and shiny in front of me, and I snap it out. Like tote bags—two more that I do not need. And a folder with Snowy looking back in askance at me; I don’t have things to put into folders. And five postcards—two French covers, and three beautiful sketches. When my attention isn’t so consumed by graphic novels, I’m returning to the little Tintin shop and start amassing Tintin books. I realize I’ve never had copies of them—the ones I read as a kid were most likely borrowed copies. Sigh.
So: Batman. Unfortunately, the Fort branch wasn’t carrying most of what I had planned to buy—Snyder’s ongoing run with Batman, more Batwoman, the third Saga volume, any Wonder Woman. There was hardly any Batman anywhere. (Then again, if there were, I’d have sold half a kidney to keep surviving.)
(Ah. Just an anecdote: While I was grumpily going through the shelves that should have held Batman, a gaggle of boys were talking about Power Girl’s infamous [and deeply frustrating] boob window. One goes, “Yeah, but without the boobs, Power Girl is just… Girl.” Laughter ensues. I walked away slowly because I didn’t want to take the time to inflict grievous harm upon anyone, whilst I was on my quest for Batman.)
I got the first three books of The Brave and the Bold at half off each, because I was curious, and I was entranced by how many people there were in the covers, haha. I’ve been reading super-teams a lot lately, mostly “edgier” iterations of the Justice League, and I’ve realized that I’ve never really read Justice League. So here’s me trying. I also got at half-off Batman: The Widening Gyre, which is a sequel to Batman: Cacophony, which means I have to get the latter before I even begin reading the former. Great. Oh, and I finally got Dark Tower: Treachery, also at half-off, which was one gaping hole in the Dark Tower books I couldn’t even start reading because, well: It had a gaping Treachery-shaped hole in it. Pah.
Kind of sad re my goal of continuing series that need continuing. I have the first two or the first three books of everything, hahaha, and I hate reading in-series books with nothing on the horizon. I did get Volumes 3 and 4 of American Vampire, because in for a penny and yadda. I also caved in and bought Batman: Heart of Hush, because will you look at it!; bought Batman: Ego and Other Tails because I’m curious about Catwoman here. Here’s hoping all this tides me over until, well, until the Universe wills it.
I did buy one other book—just last week, actually—during a rare stroll through a bookstore (I needed tape?). I picked up all the books I had been curious about before The Great Bibliophilic Thirst, but I set them back down. And then I found One Hundred Years of Solitude. When Gabo had died, I looked at my shelves and realized I had no idea what had happened to my copy. And so I got this. I will reunite with it, soon.
I can’t hope for anything more productive than that, nothing like, say, reviving this blog. I do miss it. And I miss reading more. But I miss being involved in books so much, it’s a necessity to be able to write about how a book made you feel things and made you sit still and think about things. Sigh. As usual: We’ll see, Internet, we’ll see.