Standing in front of my book shelves, I'm astonished how little (if at all) I recall of the content of all of these books that I have seemingly read – many of them however convey feelings (I felt totally absorbed when reading this or that tome) and memories of where and under what circumstances I had read them.
There's no system to my shelving books, a thriller can be found next to a memoir of addiction, the work of a nobel prize laureate in literature next to reflections on how to live well.
From time to time, I look at these shelves and realise that the covers or the book titles make my mind wander in time. John Ralston Saul's The Paradise Eater takes me to Bangkok's Sukhumvit area where I spent on and off some years in the 1990s. Jonah Blacks Arrow of the Blue-Skinned God, Retracing the Ramayana Through India reminds me of the time in my life when I felt totally entranced by literally everything from the Far East.
I've gone through quite different episodes in my life, and the books on my shelves give testimony to that. It started with my sports period (especially football), followed by my rock and pop period (I was singing in a rockband), and and and ... Lately, I concentrated mostly on thrillers and books on science.
The one constant of my life has been travelling, physically as well as mentally.
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