"the medicine chest of the soul"
Into the Sunset
Chase’s Mum read romance novels by the dozen. Or, rather, she checked them out of the local library and then abandoned them around the house, used them as coasters for ever-stronger cocktails. When she stopped going out, Chase would borrow the bodice-rippers using his own card, ignoring the librarian’s raised eyebrows; he didn’t know what else to bring her. Mum’s reading must have once included more substantial stuff: she was really good at obscure crossword vocabulary. By the end, though, she was leaving even the romances unfinished. Chase figured that it was too late to interest her in happy endings.
Stories & Lies
According to House, impending death is great for focusing your priorities, reminding you what truly matters. When Cameron’s husband was dying, all he could think about was a late library book. “Gotta return…or university…holds transcript,” Brian insisted, agitated, barely able to string the words together. Cameron promised to find the book, pay the late fees, anything to soothe him. “So…good to me, Al,” he breathed, “don’t forget…very important.” And he slipped into sleep, never to wake. Cameron found the book-Steinbeck’s collected novellas-but she didn’t return it. It sits on a bookshelf in her Princeton apartment, ten years overdue.
Believe in Fairies?
Books are the gift of choice for sick kids-portable, age-appropriate, suitable for quiet recuperation. Young oncology patients usually amass quite a library during their treatment. When a child dies, parents often donate the books to the ward; the nurses, forever short of space, stack them in Wilson’s office. More than once he’s arrived to find House sprawled on the floor, reading the latest Harry Potter. Wilson himself puzzles over a copy of Peter Pan (inscribed “To Sarah from the Fourth Grade. Get Well Soon!”); someone has penciled brackets around the line To die will be an awfully big adventure.