A book obituary

There are many casualties of moving. Furniture. Drywall. Marriages. My husband and I have boxed our belongings and moved homes six separate times during our life together. It’s a consequence of living in three different provinces in 10 years. And each time, it gets harder and harder to unpack each and every box. Even important items are forgotten, replaced and left for dead in a plastic bin labeled, “Computer Junk.”

Most of the time these abandoned items are just that, junk. I don’t think we’ll ever again need that snake pit of cords from our apartment in Southwestern Ontario circa 2005. But sometimes, these abandoned items are treasures, waiting to be remembered and returned to their former glory.

On a particularly thorough hunt for a pair of ice skates, I came across one of my precious treasures: my boxes and boxes of books. I hadn’t unpacked them since our most recent move, in anticipation of the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves I would build. Well, it’s been more than two years, and my extravagant bookshelves exist only on my Pinterest board titled, “Bookshelves.” And today, when I opened one of these boxes of beautiful books to let them breathe, I made a horrifying discovery.

Mildew. Mold. Moisture. Everywhere.

I even shoved my nose deep into the binding of book after book, for a whiff of hope that these books could be recovered. I’m not sure they can. I think my books are too far-gone. And now, I’m in mourning.

So in memory of my moldy books, I thought I would compile a list of titles that I read, and loved, and that deserved so much more.

The Year of Magical Thinking by Joan Didion

I’ve read this book three times, and each time it’s held a different meaning. Joan Didion is one of my all-time favourite writers. A giant. An inspiration. A legend. This is a gorgeous book about grief and loss, which is ironic, because now, it’s gone. Goodbye, beautiful book.

Let’s Pretend This Never Happened by Jenny Lawson

Without a doubt, this is the funniest book I have ever read. Gut-busting. I don’t remember each individual story in this book (even though I’ve read it multiple times, each time as funny as the last) but I remember the experience of reading this book. Which at one point involved me falling off my bed in a fit of tearful laughter. I haven’t read her long awaited follow up, Furiously Happy, but I’m furiously curious if it will end up in my Christmas stocking. Cheerio, funny friend.

February by Lisa Moore

This book killed me. Seriously, I lay dead. It was just so beautifully and captivatingly written. I loved every line, every passage, every expertly elicited emotion. Its characters and setting and sentimentality gave me the deep, deep feels. Fair winds and following seas, February.

The Sweetness At the Bottom of the Pie by Alan Bradley

No, no, not Flavia de Luce! This unassuming book got me hooked on the genius that is Alan Bradley, and I fear that when I open the other four boxes of books in our basement, I’ll discover that several other Falvia adventures will also be marred with mildew. If only I had the wit and wisdom of this tenacious eleven-year-old to have properly stored these treasures in the first place. Alas. Until we meet again, young Flavia. Until we meet again.

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