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Published on 07/13/1998 All articles from this issue

Guilty pleasure

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By Joan Passarelli

Blue Jeans & Jelly Beans

I've always been a library lover. Even when I was a kid, I much preferred my mom to drop me off at the library than to take me on her errands. And now, the occasional Sunday afternoon at the library my darling husband gives me is my most favorite quiet time.

Now, though, I've discovered a way to intensify my pleasure at the library. It's so illicit - and, at the same time, so delicious - that I'm quite ashamed of myself.

It started with book catalogs. I get three or four a month in the mail. I read tantalizing, seductive descriptions of books I'm sure I would love, if I could (a) justify their expense, and (b) find room for them on my jammed bookshelves.

Once the aforementioned husband saw me leafing through the catalogs, a dreamy smile of pleasure on my face. He saw the prices.

"I have one word for you," said he. "Amazon-dot-com."

"That's two words at least, I think," was my devastating comeback. I knew ordering books online was no solution. The quantity I'd be tempted to click on would outweigh any savings from the discounted prices.

Then I remembered a chronic problem I have in the library. I often find myself there in front of the catalog terminal, fingers poised, when I cannot summon up a single title or author I have been meaning to read.

The solution to both problems was obvious.

I marked up one of my book catalogs and smuggled it into the library like contraband. Then I staked out a terminal off the beaten path. I went through the entire catalog and looked up every book I wanted. At the end, I had three lists: one of books not at that library, one of books to put on hold, and one of books to look for in the stacks.

The hunt was on. My pulse pounded faster as I prowled in search of my prey. And then the most unexpectedly joyous things began to happen.

Looking for a novel by Shirley Jackson, I found next to it on the shelf a whole collection of her works, including the one I'd been looking for. Looking for one work by M.F.K. Fisher, I found another that looked even better. And tracking down a mystery by an author named Alcorn, I was delighted to find a collection of short mysteries by Asimov right next to it. Ah, bliss!

I jiggled all the books into my arms and shepherded them home.

For days I read at all hours. I told myself I was setting a good example for my children, teaching them the love of reading. But deep inside, I knew better.

I knew I was on the biggest toot of my life. Furthermore, I hadn't paid a penny for the pleasure, I didn't have to find room on my shelves, and my husband would have no objections. Well, at least until the laundry piled up and fell out of the closet.

You can probably guess the result of so much indulgence. I had to pay a price for being so greedy and for cheating the booksellers of their rightful due.

I couldn't get through my stack of books. I lost all judgment and ignored the due dates. Half of the books ended up two weeks overdue. I was a library lawbreaker.

I'd like to say I've reformed, but I can't. I've binged the same way several times since then, and had to pay overdue fines every time. I know it's wrong, but I just can't stop. It's my private guilty pleasure.

Joan Passarelli, mother of three, treasures her library cards and hopes they won't be revoked.