Glaciers

She remembers sitting in an armchair with Agnes reading the nature encyclopedia, screaming over and over again, first with fright, then glee, when they turned to the magnified pictures of spiders. Her sister read that spiders have book lungs, which fold in and out over themselves like pages. this pleased Isabel immensely. When she learned later that humans do not also have book lungs, she was disappointed. Book lungs. It made complete sense to her. This way breath, this way life: through here.

--from Glaciers by Alexis M. Smith

Rarely can I say this about a novel, but I love everything about Glaciers. Everything. I started reading it at Panera this afternoon over a cup of tomato soup. I made myself stop halfway, when the dinner crowd started coming in, but I could have read it straight through right there at my little table for two, chair facing the wet cars on the lot.

I melt for her words, her phrases, the atmosphere of meaning of this book. It's delicate and deep and lyrical. It has lungs; the entire time it felt like the words themselves were breathing, a long series of sighs held high in the lungs.

I love it so much I could turn right around and read it straight through again.

That's 3 for 3 on books so far for 2012. Now I'm going to write.