Radical Insistence

Last summer, before I left for the holidays, I went to visit my friend Laura at her gallery La Chiquita. As we talked about a future project my eyes were caught by a little yellow book with cursive writing titled Why I write: George Orwell. It is a beautiful, rare edition written in his handwriting, and it is out of print.

I am a generous person but I never lend books, mainly because every time I have they have never returned to me (if you’re reading this and I’ve lent you a book — I need it back!). I do believe in gifting my books, and have done sometimes, but the great distinction is that I don’t expect it to return. I pass it forward and let it go; it is for the future now. Laura, however, did lend me the book, and by doing that she taught me that lending a book is also lending an experience, a piece of your life; it is entrusting someone with something you love. When she trusted me with this rare edition I felt honoured, and promised I would protect it like I would want someone to protect something I loved, and surely that I would give it back – this was key for me. For a week I kept the book in a transparent case and every time I took it out I treated it like it was a rare artefact (which it was in some way). What I didn’t know was what it would ask of me.