![]() ![]() ![]() That book is Leslie Marmon Silko’s (1977/2006) Ceremony. It was time: the book and I were ready to entangle. I could feel its pull on my heart, mind, and spirit. Several weeks ago, I was reading in bed and such a moment occurred again: a book which I had purchased almost 20 years ago kept catching my eye. These books, and many others, spoke to me from the shelf when they were ready for me, or perhaps more appropriately, when I was ready for them. I’ve had similar experiences with Zadie Smith’s (2005) On Beauty and Wally Lamb’s (1998) I Know this much is True. The book – its message, language, and tenor – came to me precisely when I needed it, lifting me through a fog of confusion as a young-ish queer man. ![]() That novel, which I now consider one of the greatest books ever written, sat on my shelf for years until it called me. More than twenty years ago I purchased a copy of James Baldwin’s (1956/2013) Giovanni’s Room. My trust of tsundoku through the years has rarely let me down. In Japanese, this practice is called tsundoku (Mims, 2018). Through the years, this has led to a few shelves of books that are quietly waiting for their time. Or, the book may come to consciousness through my bibliophilic friends, recommendation, and increasingly through my reading reviews and hearing podcast discussions. The cover may attract my eye while browsing at the bookstore, and, reading the synopsis or first pages, I recognize the book as one with which I wish to commune at some point in the future. Often, I purchase a book without intention of immediate reading. ![]()
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