There are many reasons I love Brooklyn. One of them is the mysterious exchange that happens on the sidewalks and stoops of our homes. I haven’t seen this anywhere else. Even after six years just over the river in Manhattan. But, here in Brooklyn, we love to leave books and records outside for anyone to take.
I have built a beautiful, if worn, library from these finds. And I have left many, many of my own books at the foot of the tree directly in front of our building. They disappear like forgotten secrets. I feel better knowing they are in another’s eager hands.
I always want to read what’s new, what’s now but, this summer, the streets have been talking. They’ve been saying, Melissa, you’ve missed the best. I’m almost embarrassed to admit I haven’t yet read a single work of the great Gabriel Garcia Marquez or McEwan’s most well-known, Atonement. Tyler’s been nagging at me to read his beloved Simon Winchester. And others have shouted of Saunders and Patchett. I’ve managed to miss them all.
But, no more. These are the books that have found me this summer. I can’t believe my good fortune. They’ve been waiting. It’s time.