When Strand Fails You, It Actually Only Sort of Does...

On Friday after work I rushed out to go (*ahem*) actually buy Endangered Pleasures.  I am working on West 25th Street between 6th and 7th aves, so I walked down to the Barnes & Noble on 5th to get what really should probably be known as (at least I am assuming since I haven't actually read anything yet) Ms. Holland's Boozy Opus.  It was the first day in New York that it actually felt like fall-- the wind was whipping and people start to walk with their head down on the sidewalk, consequently walking into each other.  Making my way into the Barnes & Noble, I found myself greeted by some mixed emotions.  To start, I hate big box stores of any kind, and ever since the recession and the decline of publishing (well, semi-decline but that's for another day), giant bookstores like a Barnes & Noble are a little depressing and honestly really hard to find anything in.  I have been to this exact location before and I always seemed to walk out empty handed because I just never easily find the book I wanted.

And like usual, I walked in and just about walked straight out.  I will also confess that I was also looking for Mario Vargas Llosa's The Bad Girl and since literature was the first section I could find, I looked for his book first and when I couldn't find it I just decided to try somewhere else.

I headed down to Strand (and yes, Candice, thank you to you for introducing me to that magical place).  The thing about Strand is, while it is very much a magical place of books of any nature, it's mostly a used bookstore.  And that is great!  However, sometimes you can't always find what you want because it's not like they are keeping a lot of new books (or rather old new books) in stock.  All the new books are stacked on the many tables scattered around the store-- along aisle ways and between bookshelves, and then the rest of the store really feels like the "Stacks" at Indiana University.  Floor to ceiling wooden bookshelves, organized by book category.

I was sure that Strand would have tons of Llosa since he did just win the Nobel prize.  But to my surprise, after carefully looking over all the new fiction tables, I found a lot of Gabrial Garcia Marquez (actually a strange amount to be honest) but no Llosa.  I find this pretty funny since Llosa once punched Marquez in the face at a writers' conference in Mexico City after Marquez had apparently consoled the wife of Llosa whom he had left for some Swedish girl.  I guess it's okay to run off with someone but not okay for your friend to then sleep with the wife you previously left.  I don't know-- I don't make the rules.

Anyway, after looking through ALL the Ls in the stacks, I, again, found no Llosa.  After consulting the info desk, I was informed that there were two copies of The Bad Girl under V.  Someday, someone please explain cataloging to me because I really must not have paid very good attention in the 4th grade.

The Bad Girl in hand, I went down to the basement to find Ms. Holland's Boozy Opus, repeating steps one and two from earlier: carefully, I looked through all the literary nonfiction "H" section, and then asked the info desk.  This time I came up short.  I did, however, pick up a second book, entitled A Simple Heart by Gustave Flaubert.  I think it's quite appropriate since Llosa has quite a fascination with Flaubert, and actually fashioned The Bad Girl as a sort of retelling of Madame Bovery.

After all that I've decided to start with The Bad Girl (Travesuras de la niña mala in Spanish, and according to the Argentine, means misadventures of the bad girl but looking up the word, it means prank or mischief, so maybe it ought to have been The Mischievous Bad Girl).  I know it's not the book we intended to start with but since I have it, have started it and already am in love with Llosa's narrative ability (even in translation it is beautiful and now I want to learn Spanish so I can re-read it someday).

Like wine for the ears and eyes, I share this passage with you:

"Are you still in love with me?" was her opening remark, to break the ice.

 "The worst thing is that I think I am," I admitted, feeling my cheeks flush.  "And if I weren't, I'd fall in love all over again today.  You've turned into a very beautiful woman, and an extremely elegant one.  I see you and don't believe what I see, bad girl."