From the Book Waiting to Be Read on Your Bedside Table

Hey, girl, it’s me. The book at the bottom of your “To Be Read” pile. I thought maybe tonight we could hang out. You can slip me out from under this stack, slide between my pages, and get to know me better. 

We deserve some quality time, just you and me, away from the eight books you heaped on top of me. And those four next to the lamp. 

I’ve been on this bedside table for two years, and I want to take this relationship to the next level. Girl, I’m ready to open up for you.  

It feels like just yesterday you were at the bookstore with your friend Ainsley and she was like, “Have you read this? You HAVE to get it!” I felt the thrill of your fingers stroking my spine. In a flash, I was at the cash register, then in your bag, then your bedroom. 

You didn’t touch me that night, which was surprising given our whirlwind courtship at Books Are Magic, but I respect your pacing. 

I figured I’d get picked up in a day or two. But then you put that Sally Rooney novel on top of me and I was like, hmmm. Okay. You’re reading other people. That’s cool.

Then The Nickel Boys showed up. Then a John Grisham book you bought while stuck at Newark airport. Then Do-It-Yourself Basic Home Repair. No idea where that one came from. The point is, my diction will thrill you but I need to be on top. 

I’m beginning to show signs of age. A coffee stain on my cover. Some dust. A splotch from when you used me to kill a spider. I noticed your Toni Morrison book doesn’t have a splotch. 

But let’s not talk about that. Let’s talk about us. I understand a fine reader such as yourself can’t be tied down. I’ve watched you read many others. But even though we both consented, it doesn’t mean I don’t get jealous. 

I just wish you’d commit because I know how to satisfy you. And not just my skillful foreshadowing and extensive wordplay. Once you see my strong character development and grasp my firm plot, you’ll be turning my pages faster and faster. 

I know you like to see what else is out there. I’ve watched you scroll through BookTok. I saw you updating your profile on Goodreads. We both know you aren’t “currently reading” 103 titles but hey, everyone’s playing the same game, right?

I can’t ignore the nights you get dressed up and go out to the local bookstore. Ainsley will text about some hot author with a write-up in the Times doing a reading and sure enough, you stumble home with another book, sometimes two. 

It’s a lot for me to bear. Literally. You seem to have a thing for hardcovers. 

I don’t mean to pressure you. I don’t want to be like your Book Club books. You get halfway through and then start rushing because you’re afraid you won’t finish in time. Skimming leaves everyone unsatisfied.

We’ll take it slow. First, we’ll start with an epigraph. Then Part One. It might take a while to get immersed in my smooth rhythm, but by Part Six, I will have touched you in ways you won’t forget. I promise my climax will make you cry. 

Girl, sometimes I wonder if you’re just a tease, gathering up books but not going any further. There’s a word for that: tsundoku, the art of buying books and never reading them. Is that all I am, an object to be collected then ignored? 

Babe, I know you. The real you. I remember the poetry phase. The World War II historical novel phase. The “I should learn more about philosophy” phase. And now the latest Pulitzer and Booker winners. No disrespect, but I was out in paperback before they were glints in a publisher’s eye. 

So let me thrill you with my free indirect discourse. If you’re feeling curious, we can dabble in intertextuality. 

I’m in medias res but if you’re not ready, I’ll wait. Just don’t forget that I’m here and drunkenly order another one of me on Amazon. I’m pretty sure that’s how we got two copies of Atomic Habits.  

Wait, what’s happening? You’re moving things around. Taking books off me one by one. Is this my moment? Girl, get ready for my unconventional narrative structure to rock your world. 

Oh, whoops. Okay, sure, just put that wine glass on top of me. No worries! Maybe some other time.