A friend the other day asked me why I don’t write about books on the blog. Well, I said… While I was writing the novel and studying for my MA, I lost my lifelong love of reading. At the time it was quite distressing. And though Sensai told me I’d get it back, I didn’t believe him. For more than a year, I would pick up a book, read the first few lines and feel, well, nothing. No excitement. No joy. There was certainly no possibility of escapism. I mourned.
Skip to another recent conversation. This one by email. I’m being interviewed. The question that sticks? My current favourite read is… Hmmmm… Dial me back to 2006 and I would’ve had a list as long as a Joycean paragraph, but up until recently all I could do is look at the fifty or so books on my shelves that remain unread (yes, I kept on buying…) and sweat.
Sensai, however, has turned out to be right. I’m tortoise-ing my way back between the pages. Which is great because I can’t paint (poet. knew it.) like Rose Sanderson. Aren’t these pieces both an ingenious reuse of old books and very, very beautiful?
More info and pics here.
Images courtesy of Rose Sanderson.