To stay awake (this after few nights of hard drinking and insubstantial sleep), in the airport last night, I read sections (roughly the first fifty pages) of the following novels:

Elizabeth McCracken’s “The Giant’s House”, which was billed as a love story of two misfits, a librarian in a dead end town and the world’s tallest man. But I was soon bored.

Chang-rae Lee’s “Aloft” – a sly humorous look at American ennui, from the cockpit of a small plane.

John Banville’s “The Sea” – this book won the Booker Prize last year, and had magnificat writing. I am buying this today at my cheap-ass book dive

...

Returning to my books last night, after a gap of three weeks, made me feel happy. It also made me feel like the "you" in the Vikram Seth’s poem, "All you who sleep tonight":

"All you who sleep tonight Far from the ones (books) you love"

If this is lame, so be it. Human beings (I include myself) can be limited, while a library on the other hand can be, to borrow from J.L. Borges, infinite.