This morning, I walked to get coffee with my friend Izzy, and we were talking about books. “I just read True Biz,” she told me. “The ending was SO GOOD.” Meanwhile, I’m almost done with Demon Copperhead but pacing myself because I never want it to end. I also recently tore through the hilarious divorce novel Really Good, Actually (even the title made me laugh), and The Guest and All My Rage and Banyan Moon are on my bedside table, begging to be picked up next.
“You know what would be amazing?” I told Izzy, as we walked up to her stoop. “A reading vacation, no kids allowed, where you pack three or four books and you read the entire time, on the beach or in a park or at the hotel or wherever you are. You do nothing but read. You can’t come home until they’re done.”
“I want to go,” she said, lingering. “Oh my god, what if we read the same books and discussed them at dinner?!”
We stared at each other, eyes wide, stupefied into silence.
“A book club vacation,” she whispered.
Now I can’t stop thinking about it. Your mind would feel so clear yet stimulated. Maybe you could have rules, like poems over breakfast and then novels and memoirs all afternoon. Maybe you’d have all the books set in the place where you were staying. Maybe you could end the trip watching the movie version of the book. The possibilities! Endless.
(Photo by Jeremy Pawlowski/Stocksy.)