A pile of books

I did it again today. I went into a bookshop intending to collect two books I’d ordered and ended up buying two more that I saw as I walked through the shop.  The two books I’d ordered were to give away to friends. Not only am I addicted to books, I also try to push them on friends.

The two books I’d ordered to give away were:
Thank God for antidepressants! by Jane Newman, written by a friend and reviewed in an earlier post.
The Color of Water by James McBride, the story of an incredible woman who was born into an Orthodox Jewish family in Poland, raised in the Deep South of the USA and ended up marrying a black preacher and putting her twelve children through college.

The two books I bought on impulse were:
Strong Woman by Karren Brady.  It was on a ‘Buy One Get One Half Price’ offer.
Unapologetic by Francis Spufford. I read the first page and was hooked and it was the one I bought to get Brady’s for half price.

I’m unlikely to read either of these very soon because I’m reading two fairly long books at the moment:
Cooked by Michael Pollan. He writes about food and the way its production has been industrialised.  I was fortunate enough to hear him speak about this, his most recent book.  He’s one of my favourite authors.
Bring up the Bodies by Hilary Mantel, which I’m reading for my reading group.

So the new books will be added to the piles of books I’m going to read some day when I get round to it, which include:
Winter in Madrid by C J Sansom.  I read another book by this author, Dissolution and liked it.
Les Miserables by Victor Hugo, which I noticed in a second hand bookshop shortly after seeing the film of the musical.
Come Be My Light by Mother Theresa.  I want to read about the spiritual struggles experienced by one who appeared so calm and at peace on the surface.
The Fort by Bernard Cromwell, the author who provided me with much of the escapist reading I did during a really tough time in my life.
The Gulag Archipelago by Alexander Solzhenitsyn, which I’ll probably never get round to reading and which I blame on Readers World in Digbeth, pictured above and a very dangerous shop for book addicts like me.

There are other piles of unread books on my shelves but I’m going to stop typing and start reading.