Here is my book: Rules of Civility by Amor Towles
Here is my breakfast: croissant and coffee
In our last installment, I was reading Jessie Burton’s The Miniaturist, which I highly recommend. I don’t want to spoil the novel, but as the end neared, I realized just how much I had become invested not only in these characters lives, but in their happiness, which hasn’t happened to me in some time.
Recently, in my submissions pile, I’ve been finishing full manuscripts to realize I don’t have “that feeling.” I don’t want to talk to someone immediately about it, I don’t feel my heart race, I don’t think “I need this book now.” It’s the reading equivalent of a shrug–and a shrug isn’t enough to acquire a book. It’s disappointing, but I’m optimistic something that makes me feel bright and shiny and awed and jumpy will come around soon.
You know those books that are just pure magic? The ones where you read one sentence and know that you’re in. The ones that make your heart flutter and your eyes linger over a single page. The book you’re convinced was written just for you?
Well, that’s how I feel about Rules of Civility. Except I’ve taken it a step further: this book wasn’t just written for me; I was born to read this book. After many years staring at and referencing this cover, I finally bought myself a copy. (Whoever recommended this to me about two weeks ago, please make yourself known! It gave me the push I needed.) This does have an exemplary cover. It tells you everything you need to know: sophisticated, aspirational, slyly sexy historical fiction. And the inside delivers.
I will probably have much more to say about it soon, but for now I’m savoring each word.