Satisfaction

Maybe I'm getting easier to please in my old age, but something that happened at lunchtime today gave me what I might almost call a 'rush'. I'd walked into a branch of a very well known (over here, at least) bookseller, and within a few minutes, I had in my hand, now, in 2014, in spite of all the hysteria and paranoia the subject matter of the book engenders, a copy of a book about a love affair between a man, albeit a very young man, and a boy. A copy of the 2013 reissue of Sandel, of course. They'd 'hidden' it in the 'Gay Fiction' section, rather than on the general fiction shelves (something that might be controversial in itself, in some LGBT circles, given that there is more than enough hatred of boylovers amongst gays, without having to wait for 'Straightland' to weigh in), but, even so, the fact that the book was there at all was a very big deal for me. I bought the book, even though I've owned a copy of the earlier edition for three years or so, the superficial illogicality being explained in terms of the older copy being potentially fragile - forty-odd year old paperbacks aren't the most robust objects known to man - and by the fact that I like the 'picture cover'. You can never have too many (unequivocally legal) pictures of cuties, as far as I'm concerned.
I did buy another book, too, which happened to catch my eye as I wandered around the shop, a collection of Kafka short stories (I had the 'Complete Short Stories' before the 2012 meltdown, but....meh), including one I think is simply amazing, a story called The Burrow. If anyone has read it, or gets the chance to read it, I'd be interested to hear if you think that there's a better evocation of paranoia anywhere.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B