Leaving Prospect Park last Saturday, I saw a huge box from half a block away: it said “FREE BOOKS!”. Normally capslock sentiments bother me, but not when it means I may get a book out of it. The pickings were slim by the time I got there because it had been a beautiful afternoon and the block that the magical box was on receives a lot of foot traffic on even the dreariest of days, but I managed to grab one book out of what remained: Truman, by David McCullough.
I set a goal for myself last year to read one book about every president. So far, I’ve checked three off of the list (Washington, FDR, and the very recent Garfield), and abandoned a hefty Nixon tome. Between Adams and Truman, I’d already planned on reading a couple of McCullough’s books (not to mention The Great Bridge), so to find one on the street was a pleasant surprise.
At first, though, I was torn: Truman is a big, heavy book. At 1,120 pages, it might be one that’s better for the Kindle, so I can throw it in my bag and still manage to bring other necessities like lunch and my wallet to work. But at the same time, if I was to borrow the e-version from the library, there is no way I’d be able to finish it in two weeks! Better to have it for myself, so I can linger over it for gosh knows how long. Maybe I’ll keep it at home and confine it to being read after dinner or on weekends, so I don’t need to schlepp it on the subway.
But that’s all too much thought. It’s a free book, Cindie, don’t look a gift horse in its very large, heavy mouth.