Book-Lust

BOOK-LUST

Everyone says that the first step to recovery is admitting to your addiction.

A recent discussion I had with a small group of friends reminded me of the existence of the concept of what I call Book-Lust. Book-Lust exists on a plane higher than mere “wants” or even “needs”… Book-lust is the offspring of desire; it is a wanton craving for the printed word that is intoxicating, overpowering, and often times overwhelmingly illogical.

Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Gino, and I’m a book-a-holic.

I have always been like this. My youth was a time when reading took precedence over playing, when making up stories was a more enjoyable activity than eating, and when I could honestly say that my best friends were sitting on my bookshelf. I had a life outside of my books; I played some sports, had friends of the flesh and blood sort, and ate my way through tons of chips. But my true passion and my true purpose in life had always been to read.

My world was a heady mixture of white whales and Starship Enterprises. My heroes were caped crusaders and wandering essayists. My companions were lost boys and little princes…

I can honestly say that I was never bored.

My addiction stayed with me from the moment of its inception and is still with me to this day. An addiction I call it, and an addiction it is. I can never go anywhere without a book in my bag or a magazine under my arm. There’s something primal about my voraciousness for the written word, and I have always lapped up everything I could get my eyes on.

IT doesn’t matter what genre it is- science fiction, fantasy, horror, crime fiction, literature, classics, comics, or what not- the moment I get my hands on a published work, I feel like I HAVE to read it. Sometimes it take me a couple of hours and sometimes it takes me days, but whenever I finish a book I instantly love it. If I don’t finish the book by choice… well, just ask me about the Da-Vinci Code sometime.

When I do finish a book I enjoyed, I always feel both satiated and utterly depressed. On the one hand, there’s the wonderfully filling feeling of having read a great story. On the other hand… I WANT MORE! Thus, if I finish reading a great Raymond Chandler novel, I’ll go trolling through bookstore after bookstore in search for yet another. If none can be found, then I move on to other crime writers such as Greg Rucka and Elmore Leonard, desperately seeking to recapture what I lost when I put Chandler down.

It’s not just limited to crime fiction, either. I do the same with everything from Isaac Asimov books to Nick Hornby short stories. It’s a sickness, I tell you, an unrelenting and unending sickness. And like a sickness caused by viruses, I infect everyone I can.

Whenever I enjoy a book, I try to pass on that love to others. Just ask Kathy for info as to how many Dennis Lehane books, Superman graphic novels, Stephen King doorstoppers, and everything else in between I have tried to get her to read. When discussing these books with her and other friends, I can often become manic and unstoppable.

But the thing is, I don’t want it to stop.

I said that book-lust is illogical, and it can be. I have spent more money on books and comic books than I would care to venture, and sometimes I regret those purchases (see: Da-Vinci Code). But I don’t want it to stop. Each new book I pick up is a doorway into another world. Each book is an island in a sea of inane-ness. Each new book I read is another tasty morsel for my soul.

Book-Lust may lead me to do crazy things like paying 750 pesos for a slim batman graphic novel; it may lead me to do things like stay up until 3 am to finish the latest Stephen King; and it may lead me to do things like line up in insanely long queues to meet my favorite authors. But I don’t care.

My name is Gino, and I am a book-a-holic.

And I love it.