Reading Between Places

I tend to read the way I write: in bursts, one minute in this language, the next in another, usually in transit and on the go. My other (private) Instagram profile is full of pictures of books that I was reading on planes, airport lounges, or trains. There may even be a book-on-a-boat posting somewhere.

A few years ago I have started a reading log just to keep track of all the authors that I like, and I’m an avid Goodreads user. Can you guess how many books I have as a reading challenge goal for this year?  😊                      

(part of) (one of) my bookshelves in Austria

This year, I was selected as a first-round judge for the Women’s Fiction Writers Association’s STAR Awards. I am deeply honored. And, perhaps even more honestly, I am curious about what this task will reveal about me as a reader. I have been provided with two books, and I look forward to reading outside my usual range of genres. I tend to gravitate towards darker novels and short stories, nothing too light, and if there is a vampire lurking somewhere it also does not hurt. The two works I have been assigned are actually historical fiction - one set in 1892 Paris, and the other in rural Wisconsin of 1925. At first glance, I know nothing about the topics the writers I will be judging have put onto the page. I've been to Paris, obviously, but never to the Badger State. And yes, I had to look that nickname up.

What else do I read? Biographies, business books, and almost religiously everthing that Stephen Fry publishes. I subscribe to the New York Times Book Review, and follow lots of bookfluencers on Instagram: which invariably means I am pretty much up to date with what's hot on the bestseller lists. Maybe I should specify: I know my way around the English-speaking publishing world, but could hardly tell you what is currently being enjoyed in the DACH region.

The bookshelf at my apartment in Vienna is impressive mostly because I am a snob who wants to show off what she has read: I first started buying (physical) books in the 90s, when I was writing my thesis at the University of Vienna. Originally my shelf had only two sections, for fiction and non-fiction, and then slowly the bottom rack started filling up with cook books. For me, being able to buy books signified that I did not only have enough money for subsistence, but I had "made it" as I was able to spoil myself with this one luxury. I don't really care much about expensive clothes or fancy hobbies - but books, whether they be hard- or softcover, I will always buy and stack, for everyone to see.

During my studies in New Haven, Connecticut, I continued buying books. That I ended up dating the person who sold them to me at Atticus is in hindshight hardly surprising! You had me when you carried them to my car... There was this special place under the stairs of the house we were living, with a small wooden door, that provided the ideal place for all my tomes. And yes, I shipped them all, first to Tennessee, then to Vienna! Couldn't bear to be separated from them. Back in Europe, my bookcase in the living room expanded slowly but surely, first upwards (I am blessed with 3,60m ceilings), then towards the sides, and subsequently spilling over to other parts of the apartment. There are stacks next to my bed. And since I have a second home in Greece, there had to be some shelving there, too, although I try not to leave so many volumes there for the fear that I want exactly this one and it happens to be in the place where I am not. A truly terrible thought.

But apart from all of these wall space, I always carry. On most days there is one, maybe two books in my handbag, or even in the glove compartment of my Vespa. A quiet moment might be coming up unexpectedly, and how best to spend it with my nose between the pages?

my bookshelf in Greece

Can someone who is a (traveling) reader also become an accomplished (traveling) writer? The stories I gravitate towards as similar no matter whether I consume or produce them. I tend to underline places where geography becomes destiny. Physical surroundings interest me, and I want to know more about how they shape biographies, how they influence the people living and breathing in them. Thus I am also drawn to fiction that understands that people are never separate from places. A kitchen can hold a marriage. A train station can contain a departure long before the goodbye is spoken. A city can become a co-author.

We carry streets inside us. And in these streets, I carry books.