For book-lovers, these bins filled with old, worn books for only $1 a pop (for charity, no less!) are a black hole of book-luvin’-gravity. Our local Hannaford’s has one, and even if we’ve got ice cream melting away in our grocery bags, Nathan and I will have to stop and dig. Sometimes, it’s a brief dig, other times, it’s a longer, more calculated dig. As in, I had just found By the Shores of Silver Lake by Laura Ingalls Wilder, was struck by childhood memories, and wanted to see if the rest of those books were in the bin. (They were not.) Anyway, on our last trip, I found a book with a really intriguing title—The Man Who Folded Himself.
Now, what person with at least an average amount of curiosity (and perhaps at least a dash of impulsivity) can resist picking up the slim 200 page novel for a buck? Well, since I possess a dump-truck full more than the average amount of curiosity and have impulsivity that reads off-the-scale (if such a scale existed), of course I picked up the book. And, without bothering the read the back. In fact, it went much like this—
“Nathan! Look at this title! The Man Who Folded Himself! How cool is that?!” I hand the book to Nathan.
Nathan accepts the book, glances at cover, hands book back, tosses off a, “That’s interesting,” in a flat tone indicating otherwise, and resumes his own digging.
Meanwhile, I’ve carefully placed the curious treasure in one of the grocery bags.
For those of you who haven’t heard of the book, here’s the Wikipedia entry about it. It is a screwed-up book. Actually, that’s not a strong enough description. This book is a serious mind-fuck for both you as the reader, and the protagonist… And I mean it. But it’s a quick read, so if you’re in the mood for such a thing and don’t feel like watching Fight Club and prefer more sex than fifteen orgies, The Man Who Folded Himself is the right read for you. (No, the title doesn’t refer to any portion of the protagonist’s sexual prowess. I don’t think, anyway.)
And as a side note, this also reminded me of Olivia’s LJ entry about the title of a story a friend of hers wrote—The Man Who Ran Faster than Death. Another one I’d completely buy and read based on title alone.