The Great Summer Read: A Recap

One of my favorite traditions in small town America is the local library’s Summer Book Sale. My husband and I are regulars at this annual event in our town of Scarborough, Maine and we have watched it grow to be something that rivals the annual Bridal Gown Sale at Filene’s Basement. So, we knew that we needed to develop a game plan for this summer’s sale. We wanted to get there early, before the books were too picked over, but not so early that we had to muscle our way through those hardy, sale-shopper types who will endure almost any discomfort and bodily harm just to secure a great buy. I love a bargain, too, but I draw the line at having to reach over some unsuspecting person and snatch my treasure up before they can come to their senses and beat me to it. We knew the serious enthusiasts would be crowding the door the moment the librarian slipped the key in the lock to open and we were not about to get tangled up in that crowd.

This summer, however, fate smiled on us and, just before the sale was to begin, the heavens opened up and water poured down. Now, in Maine, people are careful about weather, even summer rain. The winters here have made the elderly population afraid of the all too common fall and resulting broken hip. The possibility of this horror is so entrenched in people’s minds that they tend to forget that summer rain is not so scary. The older crowd is the crowd that would likely go for the stash of books that I was searching out and, being originally from Texas and not one bit afraid of rain, I grabbed my dear husband, jumped in the car and headed over to the library the moment the clouds rolled in. The plan worked; we were part of a small crowd that had ventured out in the “weather” and were rewarded with some wonderful selections.

I seem to connect best with old books, probably because my favorite authors are all from a different time and, many, from a different place. I am drawn to the older styles of writing as well as to the character and appearance of the books. I have, more often than I care to admit, bought a book just for the lovely, old leather cover with it‘s gold imprinted lettering. I always buy the book hoping that the story inside is a good one that I will enjoy, but knowing that even if it isn‘t, I still want the book simply for the character of it’s cover. I have happened on some terrific finds, too. One of my greatest treasures is Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina, written in Russian, which I happened upon in a musty old book store in downtown Lviv, Ukraine. Even though I do speak a little Russian, this is one book I am sure to never read. Still, having one of Tolstoy’s books printed in the author’s own language is meaningful to me and, since I lived in Ukraine when I came across it, the book carries not only a story in it’s pages but, also, a story of my memories.

But, back to the library sale. Having made it there dripping wet, but very enthused, I headed over to the classic books with their soft leather bindings and their gold lettered, worn covers. I was more than willing to judge the books by their covers, but I was in hopes there would be treasures within, as well. This year, I selected several books by French author Honore de Balzac, who wrote during the early 1800’s and two books from the Jalna series by Canadian author Mazo de la Roche, early 1900’s. I was transported, with each book, to the time and place that these two skilled authors embraced in their writings. Going into the fall, I feel that my summer was vast and expansive and that I made many new friends who now live on my bookshelf. I am already working on the game plan for next year’s sale and am hoping for another heavy rain.