I am a devourer of books, which is why I anonymised my book pile for this blog. My list of books that have had an impact would be bigger than 3. But in my reading life, 3 is the magic number. I tend to have 3 books on the go at any one time.Sometimes 4.

1. My current fiction book of choice.

2. A non-fiction book . History, Biography or some other subject.

3. A digital book or audio book stored on my smartphone.

(4) My Bookclub book if it doesn’t sit comfortably in 1,2 or 3.

Currently Book Club books are the books most likely to have an impact on me. 1,2 and 3 are self-selected and what I would choose to read, but a book club book often knocks me off my reading orbit. The most enriching thing about a book club book is my book club.  Once a month I get to talk in depth or in a flippant way about the book we have all read.

There is something rather marvellous about being able to talk about a book that has been read by a group of people at the same time and then being able to talk about the book, regardless of whether I enjoyed it, with other people.

This month we read ‘Scenes from a Village Life’

http://www.theguardian.com/books/2011/aug/05/amos-oz-scenes-village-life-review?CMP=Share_AndroidApp_Other

The book was written in 2011 and nicely sums up my point about reading a book at the same time with a group of people.

If we had read this in 2011 the conversations that swirled around our different interpretations of this book would have been significantly different to the conversations that were had this week in June 2024.

The impact that any book has is dependent on when and where it has been read. That makes the word ‘impact’ a much more fluid concept.

Aren’t books wonderful?

An audiobook has had me crying into my white paint pot this week while I have been labouring on my white walls.

The idea of colour blocking outside came from an Interior Design Book.

How could anyone expect me to choose just 3 books?

Huge thanks to my fellow bookworms for opening the doors and windows of books, that I would never have crossed the threshold of without your company and some hand holding

My favourite places are Libraries. Libraries are magic portals to other worlds. The first magic portal I entered is no longer a library.

Braintree Library was a short walk from my mothers workplace. From a very young age the building became my childcare facility. My mum’s best friend was a Librarian here so that sentence is not as neglectful as it may seem. How I wish I had followed her career path or something similar and had a working life amongst books and words.

Somewhere there must be a couple of theses that I wrote. Gathering dust, written and bound, skulking in a university library. Created before the digital age, they contain my thoughts on medical imaging . There is also a more recent one called Finding the Erotic in Nature, but on the whole my words are unpublished. My anonymous boobs appeared in a medical textbook and a published Fine Art Photography book. Normal boobs, not the glamorous variety. The only book in a library that has me as a named contributor is this one.

And in a way it links back to my early days in Braintree Library. My mothers workplace, close to the library was, a radical at the time, sexual health clinic. When the call out for pillows to commemorate and celebrate women whose work made a difference to society I submitted a design that was accepted for a travelling exhibition and book.

The exhibition went to some fabulous places. Maybe 10 prestigious institutions.

So in one way or another, in a very minor way I will forever be in a library. But in the real world way, whenever my path takes me close to a library and time permits, I am likely to pop in.

For the love of books.

A little extra ponder for the weekend. I am currently reading Mothers Boy by Patrick Gale.

Normally I might not answer this prompt but this particular book, author and subject are almost the foundation of my love of reading . The Mother’s Boy at the centre of this novel is the poet Charles Causley who wrote a poem called Timothy Winters.

At the heart of the poem is a disadvantaged boy living in post-war Britain. Someone whose opportunities the Welfare State was designed to improve. It was probably the first working class poem I had ever been exposed to.

I have stuck with Causley ever since.  Then I moved near to Launceston where he lived and became familiar with the geography of his home town.  This beautiful portrait of him was done by an artist I know.

I have read many factual books about Charles Causley but this fictional version, based on facts, of his life is so enjoyable. By an author who never puts a foot wrong, in my opinion. I am having a good weekend in my bookish moments