I knew at once that it was one of those books. I was grazing along my bookshelves, a constant source of agitation to my librarian husband as they have books lodged at all angles with no apparent classification or logical system. I’ve tried various ways to approach some kind of order: colour, size, topic, usage factor, reference, fiction, hardback, but they elude me. I think the chance of discovery outweighs any benefits of orderliness.
Running my hand along the spines, I randomly pull a handful forward at an angle of 45 degrees to reveal my book ‘stack.’ Library ‘stacks’ are often rows and rows of very close bookshelves, dark and mystical places of lost and forgotten words.
Funny how memory works as I suddenly recall a Neil Diamond lyric:
You got me waiting out in the back
Under a stack
Stuck in a bin
You been keeping me in
High on the shelf all by myself
Feeling like I’m doing time
Under a sign
That reads Forgotten