Books

So. I picked up some books at a local second hand shop last week. I have a silly obsession with books, and I collect them fiendishly. My books are some of my most prized posessions. I went in looking for a Tom Robbins book that I'd seen there before but didn't buy at the time because I didn't have spare cash on me. I love Tom Robbins. I came out with 11 books, and none of them were the one I went in for. I bought The Beach by Alex Garland, The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger, Into Thin Air by Jon Krakauer, A Million Little Pieces by James Frey, One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Pictures of Hollis Woods by Patricia Reilly Giff, The Secret Life of Bees by Sue Monk Kidd, Snow Falling on Cedars by David Guterson, and a few books for the kids. I am weak. Books are really cheap there though! How could I pass them up?! I am excited to read every one of them.

I started in on A Million Little Pieces this morning, and it is really really really good. Already. I've only read a couple chapters, but I am quite certain just from those chapters that this will be one of my favorites. I have read a little about the controversy surrounding the book, but you know what? I don't care. So he wrote the story in the way his messed up head perceived it, or remembered it, or wants to remember it, and it's not 100% factual. Whatever. I get that. At least 90% of the books I read are 100% fictional, so what do I care if he embellished his true story a little? At least it's based on a true story. That gives it some punch. Even as some one who has no knowledge or experience when it comes to the worlds of addiction and rehab, it reads a little surreal, and it's obvious that it's not a strict factual account. He's not a scumbag for writing an interesting book. And it really is an interesting book.