Oct
28
The Chaos of Grief
I write in the books I read. Always with pencil, and not necessarily neatly. I put a checkmark next to the poems I enjoy. I write responses to the author in nonfiction books. A couple of months ago, I filled a book with comments to the author and then thought my daughter, Erin Mallory Long, might want to read the book as well, so I wrote her a longer personal letter, again in pencil, covering the flyleaves of the book. Sometimes, I circle sentences I particular want to find again. Sometimes, the circle repeats itself in one continuous line, forming a vortex of graphite on the page.
Writing is a response to the world. And my writing in books is a response to each of those books. In the few cases that I do not write in the book, it is as if the book never existed. I forget it.
Writing is a response to the world. And my writing in books is a response to each of those books. In the few cases that I do not write in the book, it is as if the book never existed. I forget it.