Retreating Into Reverie

When I settled down to read this week’s New York Time's book review, I had no intention of buying or ordering any new books. 

You hear that? No intention!

Already have enough unread books I’m intending to read. They fill the table in my living room, like planes on a runway waiting for the signal to take off.

There are…

Three books I’m concurrently reading. Seven others I intend to read. And six on my app queue at the Chicago Public Library, which will be sent to the local branch for me to pick up, as soon as their current readers return them–whether I’m ready to read them or not. And rest assured when I tell you—I’m not!

These unread books are haunting me. I feel the panic I used to get on Sunday nights in high school, when it hit me that the weekend had come and gone and I’d done nothing to prepare for the tests I had to take the very next day.

It’s so bad that I often wake in the middle of the night and exclaim…

Holy shit! I gotta read those books!

So I creep down the stairs, flop on the couch and read. Best reading ever, by the way. No phones. No TV. No nothing. But the book. Which I read until dawn, when I go back to bed. Hoping to sleep just enough to wake with enough energy to do whatever I have to do. Including…reading those books.

So, again, I had no intention of adding new books to my must-read list. But…

I read Adam Langer’s review of The Gossip Columnist’s Daughter, Peter Orner’s latest novel which is about Kup. And–oh, wait. Gotta explain a few things.

Adam Langer is a super-talented writer who grew up in Chicago and has written several novels.

Peter Orner is another super-talented writer who graduated from Highland Park High School and has written several novels and short story collections.

And Kup is…

Youngsters--meet Kup...

You know, I don't want to tell you who Kup is.

As Boomer as this sounds, there’s a part of me that resents having to tell you who Kup is.

Yes, yes, as arrogant as this may sound, there’s a part of me that finds it inconceivable that everyone—at least everyone in Chicago—doesn’t instantaneously recognize Kup’s name.

Finally, after all these years of submission, I feel an urge to rebel against the assumption, pounded into me by countless editors, that none of you know anything and so I must parenthetically identify the people or events I’m referring to before moving on to make my point.

And I’m sick of that! Okay? Tired of having to tell you stuff you should already know. 

Kup was a Chicago legend, people.  If you don't believe me--check out this fascinating exchange between Kup and Malcolm X, who admired Kup and praised him in his autobiography. I mean, damn--how can you not know Kup!

Sorry. That outburst was uncalled for. Don’t know what got into me. I humbly apologize. Where was I?

Oh, yes—Adam’s review of Peter’s book.

Apparently, I’m like the main character in Peter’s novel, who's so obsessed with the great people of his past that he “retreats into reverie, reeling off names of Chicago streets, journalists, athletes and politicians as if reciting a Jewish prayer for the dead.” Well said, Adam.

People like us carry the weight of the past--"all the names we lug around. Those names we’ll never shake no matter how long we live.” So true, Peter. 

According to Adam, Peter has written “a moody and engrossing” and “haunting ode to a bygone Chicago. A memorial novel of the stories and people everybody has already forgotten.”

That last sentence sealed the deal. I put down the book review section and picked up my phone and ordered Peter’s book on my library app. So much for my intentions.

Guess what? There were 145 people ahead of me. Looks like I’m not the only reader in Chicago who remembers Kup.

From past experience, I figure it will take about three months for Peter’s novel to make its way to me. Just as well–that’ll give me time to read the stack of books already on my table.