After five hours of class I come home and gracelessly throw myself down on one of our comfy green couches, sliding to the middle because as usual the pillows are out of place and it sags. I attempt to summon a last vestige of patience as I wait for the Internet to load. Wednesdays are long and my usual homecoming routine is to pour myself a glass of wine and vege in front of the computer. That is until my roommates return to our apartment with the necessary buoyancy for me to rally for a carb loaded dinner and a late night of Florence shenanigans. As I roll my neck in a fruitless endeavor to alleviate the knots from a day of bending over child sized desks something catches my eye on one of the blogs I frequently stalk. A quote by my favorite author Nicole Krauss that is cited from Great House.
Great House? I wonder. This must be a mistake. She has only written two books both of which are among my favorites and one of which happens to be the only book of mine that I brought to Florence. A Wikipedia search is obviously necessary. I am shocked and in all honestly slightly outraged to find that she has in fact released a new book just 12 days prior. A new book? Why was I not told!?!?! I know I am not in America right now but still someone really should have called me. My outrage turns immediately to panic. How am I supposed to get her book over here? I begin to consider the possibilities and wish this issue had arisen last month when my mother could have brought it to me on her visit. After several Firefox and safari reloads I have the numbers for the only two international bookstores in Florence. I dial hastily. Please have it. Please Please have it. The first number goes to a machine. I dial the second. Please Please Please. I beg in a whisper. A calm Italian woman tells me that the line is busy and if I will please wait an associate will be with me soon. Five minutes later she tells me again. And again. Elevator music is not any better in Italy than it is in America. Finally someone picks up and after much hemming and hawing as to whether he must really get off his butt and look he tells me yes they do have a copy and he will hold it for me at the front desk. I tell him I will be RIGHT there, literally skip out the door squealing and nearly forget the keys to my apartment.

The walk to the Duomo seems to take longer than usual as I am practically shaking with excitement. I cannot remember a time that I was more excited about anything in my life. Thanksgiving mashed potatoes tomorrow? Amsterdam the next day? Paris the following weekend? They don’t compare. I scurry through the streets like an animal. I’m a literary addict thisclose to my next fix. I throw open the bookstore doors with an excessive amount of force and rush up to the desk. A crinkled twenty and some change is exchanged “I don’t need a bag!!” I snap a little too forcefully then smile apologetically as I stretch a hand across the counter just inches from the crisp red and white binding waiting to be broken in. He hands it over with a shrug and I resist the urge to let out another trademark squeal of delight. I clutch it to my chest, arms crossed in protection and walk out of the store and into the cold but thankful rainless night. I try to exercise self-restraint but only make it to the corner before I crack the cover. I vow to read only the first sentence but three blocks later I’m on page four and barely looking up. I try to walk with my feet flexed since I have a history of tripping on independently minded cobblestones but Italian people usually tend to barrel through the streets without regard for people or cars in their way so I have little issue as I make my way home. Every sentence is like a present just for me a beautifully crafted line in language I adore. I feel like I am reading through my list of favorite quotes and find myself folding over the corner of almost every page to copy and paste to this collection later. In my life there have been few surprise gifts which I actually adored but tonight I hold in my hands a present just for me and it’s wonderful and unexpected. I suppose the Italians find me strange peering down at a book as I walk through poorly lit streets and weave through the crowds around Billa (our nearby grocery store). I begin to think of the opening scene in The Beauty and the Beast when Belle is declared “Nothing like the rest of us” for having her nose in a book. If they are thinking this they are right.

There might not be a single person in Florence tonight or any night for that matter who is remotely excited about a new Nicole Krauss novel but that is more than alright with me. I am insanely happy because having a new novel by a favorite author is being reunited with a friend and soul mate. Someone who doesn’t know you but somehow knows the very essence of your being to a minute detail. With this book, I have just been returned a part of my heart and soul that I had left in America. I would not have thought it would travel well but in fact the streets of Florence and a cold November night on my own make it that much more beautiful. I wonder as I write this if Great House will live up to the legacy left by Nicole’s last two books. I wonder if I will forever think of Florence when I look at this book months from now. If all the beautiful joys and sorrows of my life abroad will be pressed in between the pages like dried flowers. One thing however is for certain: either I won’t be in class tomorrow or I won’t make it out tonight. If you’re looking for me I’ll be on the couch healing my heart and crying with Nicole.


I promise my post about Rome is coming soon! Actually that's a lie. It probably won't get done untill after this book! :)
HAPPY THANKSGIING EVERYONE I MISS YOU ALL AND WISH I WAS WITH YOU