So for the last year or so, I have been donating hundreds of books to libraries-most specifically the Mar Vista Branch of the Los Angeles Public Library-and in some case selling or trading books to the few booksellers still in the business. And I also read many of the books I have downloaded on Kindle, which cost a whole lot less than new paperbacks. It’s just that, now that I’m retired and on a fixed income, and now that bookstores have almost ceased to exist, I read more library books. Look me up on Goodreads.Com, and you will find my reviews of all the books I read. According to my records, I still devour some 150 books a year. I used to spend upwards of several hundred dollars a month picking up titles which I thought that, some day, I would sit down and read. I used to love going to bookstores and buying lots of books, supplemented by the books I bought from Amazon, eBay, and the Advanced Book Exchange (ABE). Was I trying to build my own Library of Alexandria? Apparently.
Suck me shakespeer lapl full#
The center of the room has large piles of books and boxes full of more books. I’m showing you this 17-year-old picture of my library because now it’s much worse. I spent a couple of hours looking at the Fodor Brazil guide before heading home. Afterwards, I bought some milk chocolate clusters with walnuts, peanuts, pecans, and almonds. Next, I drove to the Westfield Culver City mall, where I ate a light vegetarian lunch at the Vietnamese restaurant in their top floor food court. The reason? I am toying with the idea of flying to the State of Bahia, to Salvador and Ilheus, and reading Jorge Amado’s novels which are set there.
Suck me shakespeer lapl free#
(As well as being an actual traveler, I am also an armchair traveler.) On my way out, a picked up a free library discard copy of Fodor’s Brazil (2016). Travel literature is one of my favorite book categories, accounting for much of my reading during the summer months. After I dropped them off, I sat in one of their comfy chairs and finished reading The Best American Travel Writing 2013, edited by Elizabeth Gilbert. They are about to have a large book sale in a couple of weeks, and I thought these books would probably sell. This morning, I took a box of 20 trade paperbacks to the Los Angeles Public Library in Mar Vista as a donation. There is a great deal of violence in the plot as Robicheaux fights his police force and various Federal agencies at the same time as he tracks down a set of murderous thugs, one by one. Death was a rodent that ate its way inch by inch through your entrails, chewed at your liver and stomach, severed tendon from organ, until finally, when you were alone in the dark, it sat gorged and sleek next to your head, its eyes resting, its wet muzzle like a kiss, a promise whispered in the ear. Somewhere down inside him, he knew that his fear of death by water had always been a foolish one. Then to one side of the road, in a scoured-out clearing in the trees, I saw a shack built of Montgomery Ward brick and clapboard, elevated from the muddy ground by cinder blocks and cypress stumps, with a Toyota jeep parked in front. In the early morning stillness the sound made the herons and egrets rise in a sudden flapping of wings toward the pink light above the treetops. A rotted plank snapped under my wheel and hanged off the oil pan. The fog was so thick and white in the trees that I could barely see thirty feet ahead of the car. The dead cypresses were wet and black in the gray light, and green lichen grew where the waterline touched the swollen bases of the trunks. His pictures of the Southern Louisiana landscape sometimes wax on the poetic:Ĭlouds of fog swirled off the bayou through the flooded woods as I banged over an old board road that had been cut through the swamp by an oil company. But because I had come to feel that that authority should always be treated as suspect and self-serving. Like many others, I learned a great lesson in Vietnam: Never trust authority. He has had a problem with alcoholism and a history with Twelve-Step programs, as well as a distrust of authority. After a traumatic stint in Vietnam, he joins the New Orleans Police Department. Having just finished the first novel in the Dave Robicheaux series- Neon Rain (1987)-I now know why I like him so much.ĭave Robicheaux is the hero of most of Burke’s novels. I have been reading occasional mystery novels by James Lee Burke over the years.
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