To my right, also open face down, is Joan Didion’s Slouching towards Bethlehem. I’ve been reading it, one short piece at a time, for a stretch. Right beyond it, and anchoring the night table, is Adam Johnson’s The Orphan Master’s Son, a novel about North Korea. Behind and below Mr. Johnson’s book, I count another 26 volumes and see another three on the floor. I think I should admit that these are just not going to get read and leave them outside my neighbor’s door (which is what I do with books that I finally admit are not for me; it’s a happy system that we have). But, before dismissing the whole teetering stack, I spy one that I do want to read — and will read — at the top of the pile. The Tin Drum sits atop that hill of novels. (Are there any Tin Drum lovers out there who would like to inspire me to dig in? Please do. I’d love to hear what you have to say about it.)
—Nathan Englander, our guest blogger this week, on the bookscape of his apartment
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