Pre-read books

At university I preferred used books because they were marked up and I could see what the previous owner thought important. I only wish I could have known the owner to ask what grades they received.

When I lived on Wigglesworth Street in Boston, Hyram Manning, an eccentric but fascinating artist, used to write notes in his books that he loaned out. I loved his comments and still remember his, “not another French twist” remark. Books and food were the main topics of discussion over our frequent afternoon tea breaks where I learned Earl Grey mixed with gunpowder was wonderful. He gave cucumber sandwiches new meaning.

Thus I was pleased when I chose a book at my local English used book shop with light pencil notes and underlined words. The first reader was obviously French because the notes were in French. I could also see that the words the writer didn’t understand were more slang. She didn’t understand stand your ground, cave in, slimeball in the same way when I read a French book, I sometimes get stopped by the jargon.

I’ve reached a point in French books (maybe because I choose the least difficult) where I can go pages without missing a word) that I mark it and then go back all at once to increase my vocabulary, which is good if you don’t take pronunciation into account. I can mispronnounce several hundred French words.

The book itself wasn’t worth finishing. I didn’t care whether Penny ended up with Daniel or Christian, but I should have spotted it as a stupid romance (versus a clever romance). What I did enjoy was the pleasure of being in touch with the previous reader, although she will never know she connected with me.

I suppose I could go to the tearoom around the corner and regularly ask “Who learned what Slime Ball meant from reading (title)? Or not.