Profiteering off the murrain, the Scarecrow of Lisle flops in the wind and demands a man in his early twenties, and of a scholarly bent, to entertain him in the eating of his own words. Not the writer type, he has but the recourse of his library, to the brim of other visions and voices.
And so comes a time in the life of a desperate bookworm, swaying at figurative misgivings, to ingest, nay, consume, their most cherished.
Picking the volume is of personal taste and a test of the bibliophilic palette. An experience borne of reading many and discarding those that would otherwise burn time away into sadder ashes.
Chapter and verse is a course of course, upon a plate of text and words of pure imagination. Or findings standing on a basis of fact. Dependent upon the style of the reader.
Beware the authors favouring run-on sentences. They will lead to bouts of spurting diarrhoea. And a withdrawal of breath. One never comes fully as themselves from a spate of emergency evacuations.
To possibly counter this, a serve in ellipses. Too many though and the pregnancies now burn with the agony of constipation.
Drop caps, rampant in those ornate special editions, are the fitting garnish, but distract you from the paltry flour in the pages. They call these the parsley breadsticks.
If you come across semi-colons, and you're not quite sure how to apply, it is best on the side; a dish best in parts.
Chew on small sentences. The constant bite-sizing aids in digestion. Long flowery passages will give you time to stew, but only if they lead to a revelation.
When done, take a hedge on solid statements and closure. Dangling plot threads or ambiguous endings are cliffhangers most untidy.
It's a librarian's Götterdämmerung, baby! And you best tread caution when cracking a spine. Never know when you'll take to a re-read.
And reading a book read in the times ago avails you to other senses and experiences. Rejoice in the cycle.
Written on Friday, 16 April 2010