a sudden sadness I could not explain. I dropped the pen and threw away the list. Clearly, this wasn't the way to go.
With some authors or topics I know that, no matter what I read by or about them, it will appear in a certain section. All things Oscar Wilde are shaped like strings and run a length of about 50 metres across a parking lot. The garage that is home to Middlesex features a few dozen articles and documentaries on reproductive medicine, heart surgery and transgender issues. There's a scene in Ian McEwan's Saturday in which the heart surgeon protagonist is peeling onions. I don't remember the rest of the novel very clearly, but there he is, peeling away. He'd stick out of the bonnet of my mum's car but I'm uncertain if I should tell her that. Also, inexplicably, there's Rollerball with James Caan from 1975. The librarian certainly has a sense for the absurd.
I've been wondering what would happen if someone wrote about me. Would it make it into the library and, if yes, would I short-circuit if I saw it?
I've just noticed that this text covers a beach-towel sized patch of lawn in front of my granddad's aviaries. It's a stone's throw away from Ray Bradbury's A Graveyard for Lunatics. That's not too bad.
Myriam Frey is a Swiss writer, translator and occasional illustrator. Her stories have appeared both in print and online in magazines and anthologies such as Ambit, Paraxis and Still (Negative Press). Myriam lives in Olten, Switzerland, with her family. You can find some of her work on www.myriamfrey.ch. Twitter: @DustyNewRose.
"All things Oscar Wilde are shaped like strings and run a length of about 50 metres across a parking lot"