Friday, July 15, 2011

The Lover's Dictionary

This summer has been full of fantastic reads.
I started off on a darker path with:

And after I had my full fix of sad, I took a complete 180 and tore through these two.

Both of those took about 10 minutes, and were just the fluffy fix I needed to accompany my beach towel and bud light girl.

While in Katy, I read The Lover’s Dictionary. It took no time at all to finish, and would make a really cute little gift-style book for the lover in your life (however, it’s about heartbreak too… so that might send the wrong message).

The author, David Levithan (who also wrote Nick and Norah’s Infinite Playlist) goes through the dictionary (yup, A to Z) picking various words, and relating them to his personal stories about relationships and love. As I read it, I flagged a few words that particularly stood out to me. Chris is never that interested in things from books I read, so I figured I’d share them here. That, and I have to return the book to the library.

My favorites from The Lover’s Dictionary:

aloof, adj.
It has always been my habit, ever since junior high school, to ask that question:
“What are you thinking?”
It is always an act of desperation, and I keep on asking, even though I know it will never work the way I want it to.

candid, adj.
“Most times, when I’m having sex, I’d rather be reading.”
This was, I admit, a strange thing to say on a second date. I guess I was just giving you a warning.
“Most times when I’m reading,” you say, “I’d rather be having sex.”

paleontology, n.
You couldn’t believe the longest relationship I’d been in had only lasted for five months.
“Ever?” you asked, as if I might have overlooked a marriage.
I couldn’t say, “I never found anyone who interested me all that much,” because it was only our second date, and the jury was still hearing your case.
I sat there as you excavated your boyfriends, laid the bones out on the table for me to see. I shifted them around, tried to reassemble them, if only to see if they bore any resemblance to me.

posterity, n.
I try not to think about us growing old together, mostly because I try not to think about growing old at all. Both things – the years passing, the years together -are too enormous to contemplate. But one morning, I gave in. You were asleep, and I imagined you older and older. Your hair graying, your skin folded and creased, your breath catching. And I found myself thinking: If this continues, if this goes on, then when I die, your memories of me will be my greatest accomplishment. Your memories will be my most lasting impressing.

Oh, and the NYT’s review made me smile too. So here it is.

Oh, and NPR's too.

rest, v. and n.
Rest with me for the rest of this.
That’s it. Come closer.
We’re here.

1 comment:

Rachel said...

Just realized how much more adult your books are than mine. And I don't mean like pornographic or anything, I just mean that mine are geared toward 7th graders and yours are geared toward our age. Maybe I should take a hint.