Cadillac Jack

I am reading a book called Cadillac Jack. By Larry McMurtry.

If you came across a book called Cadillac Jack, could you pass it by? If so, I worry about the state of your curiosity. Your appreciation of the intriguing.

It has characters like Sir Crisp Crip. Many characters have names like that. Reminds me of the colorful characters Lawrence Sanders filled his books with.

I am digging Cadillac Jack.

And in a related story:

My two, tall, black, beautiful bookcases now stand in mute testimony to my greatest obsession - books.

In the other house, the bookcases were upstairs in my private lair where nobody ever saw them. I would admire them from time to time because they hold a special magic for me, but - other than that - they went unnoticed.

In our new home they are again in my private lair, but my private lair is on the first floor (everything is on the first floor because there is no second floor) and they stand out magnificently. You cannot miss them. You walk to the end the hall, look to your right and there they are - filling the wall opposite the door - filling your vision.

I love the way they look here. Dramatic. Impressive. Bearing witness to a lifetime of reading, dramatically thinned out.

I got rid of literally hundreds of books. Hundreds! As I did, I entertained the idea of inviting Keith and Craig over to go through them, but you know how it goes.

"Oh my God! We are moving in __ days and we have so much packing, and thinning out left to do, we are under the gun, we gotta get this done NOW, just get rid of this shit!"

So my books went into boxes (many, many boxes), and the boxes went to the swap shop at the dump, and to Goodwill.

Frankly I am amused to think of the people sifting through my books. I have mostly eclectic tastes. Yes, I read plenty of "normal" books, but I also read a helluva lot of quirky stuff. Not mainstream. That is the benefit of voracious reading - you can fill up on quirky and still have time to rest and entertain the brain with run of the mill. With the caveat that all of it must be well written.

I don't think people who obtain books from swap shops and Goodwill are discerning. I imagine them picking up one of my books and thinking "What the hell is this?"

I like the fact that all these books, that were in my hands and devoured by me, now belong to other people. Strangers. People I will never meet and be able to discuss these books with. Fractional pieces of my life live on independent of me and, eventually, beyond my lifespan.

Pretty cool.

So contentedly I read Cadillac Jack, and secretly swell with pride anytime another family member or friend gets to admire my precious bookcases.

It's good to make an impression.