The Bibliophile's Lament
I am not a fashion junkie. The floor of my wardrobe is not lined end to end with shoes, (anyone who has ever had to witness me attempting to walk a straight line in heels will understand why). The objects I covet, the objects I couldn't possibly go a whole week without collecting more of, despite the fact that they are taking over my home and my life, are books, so it should come as no surprise to you that I adore book shops. I blend in with every other mother in a shopping centre, scanning the meat section for steak I might actually be able to afford, sighing over the price of breakfast cereal, pushing my trolley toward the blessed exit sign in procession with other harried suburban warriors, weary from battle.
Should I stumble upon a new book store on my retail travels, I freeze. My ears burn, my heartbeat quickens, my saliva glands go into overdrive. The metamorphosis has begun. Gone is my sense of maternal duty, replaced by the overwhelming urge to quench a thirst I've sworn to ignore. Then, like a red rag to a bull, my trigger is thrust before me.
SALE! ALL FICTION $5.00!
I pounce, sweeping the shelves, hunting for the tomes that will sate my literary cravings, at least until the next metaphorical full moon rises. That is what it is like to live with the bibliophile demon clawing away inside your head or, at least, it used to be.
It's been a while between attacks. Why is that? I'll tell you...
Because book shops are disappearing! Unless you live in the city, or in a suburb that boasts a
shopping centre so large that it's deserving of it's own postcode, you couldn't possibly imagine what a cultural wasteland I live in. My local shopping centre is fine, serviceable, if all you want to gain from your retail experience is a week's worth of food and a cheap lunch, but if you are looking for reading material to devour while you wait for that surly checkout operator to finish processing the twenty bags of groceries the feral family in front of you have amassed, you'll have to pollute your brain with one of the gossip rags that, by absolutely no coincidence, sit just above the red bulls and Mars bars.
I challenge anyone who lives in outer-suburbia to find a single book store. It's getting that bad. I don't mind having to travel for an hour to get my read on, but I do object to class warfare, and that is what I believe is going on here, at least as far as culture goes. If things don't change pretty soon, we are going to see a generation of mono-syllabic, fluoro-pink-plastic-nailed, screen obsessed yackers whose idea of absorbing culture is leaving illegible comments on YouTube videos and who won't read anything that requires a little effort on their part.
Oh, wait...
