A love of books was ingrained in me at an early age. I read often and enjoy going to the library or bookstore and discovering new books. I admit that I often pick up books with pretty covers (I just can’t seem to help it—its allure lures me). But then I’ll skim the first few pages to see if the content and writing appeals to me before taking it with me or returning it to the shelf. Usually at worst a book can do is bore me. [Pause.] Usually.
Recently, with a hardcover book in hand, I was reading in bed. Normal enough. And then I somehow lost my grip of one side of the book and the corner of the book smacked me in the lip. It hit me hard enough that it not only hurt, but it also made me bleed. That’s right, a book gave me a bloody lip. How sad is that?
I didn’t see it coming (literally). I expect to accidentally bang my knee on a table or prick myself with a needle, but getting hurt by a book? No, a book is not a weapon (unless wielded improperly as I did). It was totally lame to get hurt by such a normal and benign object. [Sigh.] Lame enough that I could see it as a B-horror movie: Book Attack! (It would have a simple plot of a young woman librarian who stumbles upon a magic book that brings all the books in the library to life. Perhaps the books grow teeth to eat tasty humans or maybe the book characters become a part of the real world and zany horrors ensue.) It would be a fine cheesy film.