Why I No Longer Read Heavy Books
We went to bookshops. She stood in front of the shelves and critiqued novels. I just listened. Often I couldn’t work out from what she said whether she thought the book was good or bad. She sounded just as clever when she was talking about books she disliked as books she liked. When I worked it out, I bought the books she approved of. I took them home and tried to make them look well-thumbed. In the mornings, I opened the books to the centre pages, and left them face down on my bedroom floor among stray socks and empty crisp packets, so that by the evening when I was home the spine was creased. I started carrying these books around in my hand with me when I left the house, especially when I would meet Jess. We would be walking down the high-street together and I would catch a glimpse of us reflected back in the windows of shops. I saw myself, Jess in one hand and a worn paperback in the other, and I liked what I saw.
By Andy West.