My Life with Bob by Pamela Paul

Author:Pamela Paul
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Henry Holt and Co.

CHAPTER 12

The Secret History

Solitary Reading

Reading for the most part is a solitary downtime activity, yet feels like one that can be done all the time, no matter how many people are around. You can will yourself to be alone in a book regardless of circumstance. I for one read when I sit down and I read when I wait and I read while I walk; occasionally I read while I walk into things. I read when I spot a scenic view with a bench (not the point, I know) and to avoid surroundings that are less than appealing. There is something especially enjoyable about reading on trains and on planes and in coffee shops, where the gesture constitutes a futile cultural rebuke to everyone else’s tablet or smartphone. They never notice.

But you might not notice things either. You’re not necessarily aware of what’s going on around you. You miss things and you leave people out, and this might bother others. Some are inherently unnerved by another person reading alone, not seeing it as “I choose to read now,” but rather as “Leave me alone” or “I’m lonely.” There is something inherently melancholy about reading alone in a restaurant, for example. You get the sad looks that seem to say either “Your date didn’t show?” or “You didn’t have a date.”

And sometimes, if you’re me, you can be so oblivious to the signals around you that you end up in trouble. This actually only happened once, but it was decisively unpleasant. I was in Florence. I had just finished a semester abroad in Paris and had a month to spend traveling northward from Rome to the Dolomite mountains. Italy is usually sunny and beautiful, but to the chagrin of the tourist industry and the tourists there that particular month, it rained during every single one of those Italian days. Because youth hostels and convents had no food service, all my meals were eaten out in restaurants and cafés, where I’d arrive alone, pathetic and sopping wet. Each time, I’d steel myself for the host’s pitying look when I requested a table for one.

I’d allow these stares to abate before sealing my lowly status by sneaking a book out of my bag. Reading alone at a dinner table in Italy is basically against the law. At the very least, it’s culturally insensitive. Apparently, nobody there sees it as a potentially romantic gesture. No one, it seemed, imagined that the solitary reader might secretly hope that if she only read the right book alone, a handsome stranger would come along and ask, “What’s that you’re reading?” and it would all end happily ever after. Perhaps that was reserved for Audrey Hepburn.

But you could resolve to be open to the possibility—to look up occasionally, to appear friendly, to offer an entrée into conversation, not to be such a New Yorker. This was Italy! These things happened here, at least in fiction.

On my third day in Florence, I was deep into Hemingway’s Nick Adams Stories

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.