Seattle is said to be a city of "readers." Whether my neighbors here in the Pacific Northwest are more bookish than the folks you know in Los Angeles or Cleveland, I can’t say.
I do know that Seattle is the home of Starbucks and everyone here walks around with a coffee cup in hand. If Seattleites read a lot, maybe it’s because 3 lattes during the day make it difficult for us to get to sleep at night. Perhaps we read to quiet the pounding drumbeats of those nasty, addictive beans.
I think too that our wet, chilly weather is conducive to evenings and weekends spent on the couch, under a quilt. My sweet wife, otherwise a fairly clear-eyed individual, begins each new year by rereading the Lord of the Rings trilogy--a ritual she’s observed for at least the past five years. About March, when the winter rains are beginning to subside, Leah is finally emerging from her literary Hobbit hole. She is ready to look for life and reading beyond Frodo and Sam.
The book pile on my night stand is likewise fairly predictable. In a world full of so many books, so little time, I can usually be found reading something by Barbara Kingsolver or Annie Dillard. Lately I’m lightening-up a bit and my before-bed reading is “In a Sunburned Country” by Bill Bryson. Kind of the Chevy Chase of travel writers, Bryson is always just a step away from a slapstick dope-fall, a travel calamity. The book is a hoot. I'm sure I sleep with a smile on my face.
