Thursday, November 01, 2012

Do you want to read this book? YES

So here I am, sat in front of Pondering once again.  A little overdue some might say, or at least I would.

I saw the Turner Prize on Tuesday and felt overwhelmed with the need to write about it.  So I crossed the road from Tate Britain to Chelsea, armed with my University of the Arts ID and feeling a little like a trespasser, only to find that Chelsea library doesn't seem to have student access computers.  It seems that you bring your own Mac or go home.  I definitely prefer Central Saint Martins.

On Monday the urge to write about modern art and London galleries and my own practice was nearly enough to make me write.  Instead I ate marshmallows and smoked a lot of cigarettes.  In retrospect, I should've written that one, it would have aided my upcoming report on 'London as a Resource' incredibly.

Last night I went to see Silent Hill and mentally brainstormed ideas for a blog about dreams and reality within film - which would have followed on quite nicely from my last blog, which I believe was about dreams too.

But this isn't about the Turner Prize, London as a Resource, or dreams and reality within film, though they might follow sometime.

This is about me reading a book.

Now, that may sound a little underwhelming to you.  And so it should be - I am very aware of individuals worldwide who are well versed in all sorts of books.  Hell, I used to be too.  The problem is that I recently I became a bit of a book-phobe.  At the start of University, that's not something you want to admit to, especially when you're sitting there in lectures with all these relevant authors and titles being thrown out at you and you're sat there going "Oh, I really should read that" only to forget every piece of relevant information as soon as you hear about something a little more accessible... like TV.  Or film.  They are both stupidly accessible and made me forget how to read.  Fuck you BBC.


One of my friends flatmates is someone who seems to read an awful lot.  Whenever we chat over a pint about a concept that interests me he'll go, "It's like that Sigmund Freud book on dreams - I can lend you it!" and I go "Ah yes!  I would love to read it!" and conveniently forget about it when we go back to our flats.

However, about a fortnight ago I got put in a corner.  I was round at said friends flat drinking a bottle of red and celebrating the fine Thursday night when the group got onto a conversation about... hot celebrities.  Here is the basic flow of our conversation.

Which celebrity would you shag? --> Zooey Deschanel. --> Yes, Zooey Deschanel is very fetching I must agree. --> Have you seen Yes Man? --> Yes.  Have you read Yes Man? --> No, but I always mean to. --> Ah!  It is in my room, let me get it for you.  --> ... Bollocks.

So he comes back into the kitchen clutching Yes Man and hands it to me.  I'm a bit scared.  If it's possible to believe that you've actually forgotten how to read then that is exactly how I was feeling.
But the red wine has acted as bravery juice, and I read the introduction to myself.  And I love it.  And I put the TV on mute and demand that the whole kitchen listen to me read the 2 page introduction aloud to them.
The reason I loved it so much was probably thanks to the ego massage it gave me in the last sentence...



Isn't that nice?  Wouldn't you continue reading a book after it noticed the effort you'd made on that particular Thursday evening?

So here we are, about a fortnight later, and I have to say that I've fallen back in love with reading.  And it's all thanks to Danny Wallace and Yes Man.  I read it in bed at night with a hot chocolate, I read it in bed in the morning with a hot chocolate, I read it on the underground whilst strangers peer over my shoulder and I thank god that there are no sex scenes, I read it when I go outside for a cigarette.  It is very readable.

I am going to write a little more about the actual content of the book, or rather, the positive outlook you cannot help feeling whilst reading the book.

But I am going to have to do it later, because my mum is on her way to meet me and I have to collect her from Tufnell Park station.

For now - get onto Amazon and order Yes Man.  Or tweet your friends asking if they have a copy you can borrow.

Or do neither.  I don't care.  Read what you want.