Today Nima brings us a bit of weekday fun with her tale about the secret lives of booklights… I hope you enjoy!
Back in 1939, James Thurber exposed the secret life of Walter Mitty in a short story, printed as one of several in a collection of short works. Danny Kaye brought Mr. Mitty to life on the big screen in a very different adaptation of the same name in 1947. Broadway took Walter to the stage in 1960. It appears that Ben Stiller is scheduled to do the same this Christmas with an A-list cast that includes Sean Penn and Kristin Wiig. Oprah convinced us to read all about the secret life of bees and it too was made into a movie. Television brought us the secret life (or not so secret life) of the American teenager. So here’s what I’m wondering, is there a best seller and multi-million dollar movie contract out there for the secret life of my booklight?
Since the proliferation of the tablet, booklights have fallen on hard times. They used to be our partners in crime. Mom would turn out the light, tell us we needed to go to sleep, and as soon as the door was closed, we would pull out Judy Blume and stay up well past our bedtime reading. Our booklights were right there with us, word for word.
Like vampires, booklights are creatures of the night. We keep them tucked in dark drawers during the day and they don’t come out until well after dark. Then we feed them a steady diet of fantasy, supernatural, and science-fiction romance. And when we don’t need them anymore because we’ve gotten a sleek new e-reader, is it any wonder that they run away from home in search of adventure and true love? That’s What I’m Talking About reviewers Ang, Vampbard and myself have had lengthy discussions about where our booklights have gone and the lives they now lead. (You didn’t think we had normal conversations did you?)
It’s a sad, cautionary tale. It started when Ang’s hot pink booklight ran away while she was chaperoning a high school band trip to New York. It wanted to see its name in lights—it wanted to be the lights. Alas it fell in with the wrong crowd, started spotlighting pole dancers for extra cash to buy fresh batteries. Finally it became a former shadow of itself, not even worth clipping to the dash of a drug dealer’s car because they invented the “flashlight” app for cell phones.
My booklight, a sleek silver number than unfolded itself automatically, was sure it had the skills to find and bring Ang’s booklight home after ingesting the crime thrillers of Michael Robotham. Vampbard’s booklight was red, flashy, and carried a wealth of experience having worked as an editor and school teacher.. Between the two of them, they were sure they could rehabilitate Ang’s booklight and put her back on the simpler path of Stephanie Perkins and Stephenie Meyer. No more Steven King or Keri Stevens. Indeed, temptation is great and soon our booklights were lost to the redlight district as well.
When they produce this Shakespearean tragedy, I think the Pixar Lamp should play the part of my booklight in the movie adaptation. The Brave Little Toaster is a shoe-in for Vampbard’s booklight, and I hear there’s buzz in Hollywood that the title role of Ang’s pink beauty might go to a Tiffany lamp enchanted by the wizard from Disney’s The Sword and the Stone. It’s a controversial choice because no one is sure if they should put the wizard or the lamp under contract.
I do still like to read paper books. I have not re-purchased many of my favorites in e-format. My husband tolerates my nightstand lamp when I read them at night, but he grumbles come 2:00 am when it’s still on. J.R. Ward is just not the same without my late night buddy. I wish my booklight would come home. I miss him. Until then, I’ll hope and leave the porch light on.