My Struggle: Book 1

Read all the other reviews, they say it better than I could.

My Kindle was lying under a thin layer of dust on a set of metal Ikea Helmer drawers. The cream drawers were next to my bed and sat on small plastic casters. I reached for it. The drawers rolled slightly as I bumped them with my elbow in my clumsy attempt to grab the device without sitting up. The improvised night stand was not new and was heavy with pens and books and tools and various items that I had filled it with over the years. Still, the force of my arm hitting it was enough to cause it to move. Until this moment it was situated parallel to my bed, now it was not. I did not bother to move the drawers back after I had the Kindle in my hand. It was dusk and the sun was more red than usual causing the cream to appear pink, but my thoughts were not focused on the sun or on the evening. I was thinking about reading a book. I was interested in starting something new despite having recently started many other books that were good, any one of which I could have picked up and finished without needing to make the effort of finding a new book to read. I pushed the button on the bottom of the electronic reader. Nothing happened. I pushed it again. This time the screen flickered once, then twice, and a third time as the monochromatic advertisement for a romance novel featuring a shirtless man holding a busty woman leaning back in his arms was replaced by the text of the last book I read. The book was about consciousness and its origins. Last time I read I felt motivated to read something difficult and scientific. On this evening, I wanted to read something that would make me feel something more, something to bring back the emotion I felt as a child reading Old Yeller or A Wrinkle in Time. I pressed the embossed button on the front of the Kindle to return to the list of books the device contained. I did not want to read about consciousness or to think of it at all. I was alive and conscious. That was enough. In the future I would not be conscious or alive but as for now, I was. I wanted to start a book I could read that would require minimal effort and yet hold my attention while at the same time being at least somewhat literary. Also, I wanted to read something that would make me feel more. I jabbed at the screen with my left index finger to replace the initial list of titles which were displayed in the order they were added. None of them appealed to me. After three more swipes of my finger, the list of books showed the title of a book that I had recently seen reviewed by someone called Manny whose review of the book I enjoyed reading. I knew that if I was going to eventually write a review myself that I would need to read the book. I tapped the book and after the customary flickers of the screen, the text of My Struggle appeared and I began reading about the heart and about death. I immediately knew that it was a book that I would finish. It was just the book for that night. I was happy about that.