The Itch

Fifth week of lent and coming up against gluttony. Same old story, but another song. It’s just the flavour that changes, but again, I promise, publicly now, that I’ll buy no more books this year. There’s a couple on the way. A book of essays by Hilaire Belloc, which I bought with a gift voucher (so that doesn’t count, right?). I’ve got Flannery O’Connor’s collected stories on the way too. But there’s been a spate of recent orders that I must confess to. Two collections of the Letters of Therese of Lisieux. Journey to Carith, which is a biography of the Carmelite Order. Two books by Anthony Esolen, which I’m dying to read: Life Under Compulsion and Ten Ways to Destroy the Imagination of your Child. I’ve got readings on classical education; Leisure: The Basis of Culture by Joseph Pfeifer, which I bought for Tahlia.

And of course, Jordan Peterson’s 12 Rules for Life, which has been a great read so far. But it’s a gluttony of its own, I recognise, and I need to commit, to temper, in light of a long history of compulsive buying that started with comicbooks, moved to cd’s and dvd’s until I weaned myself off with Nintendo Wii games and good books. I forgot to mention amazing gifts from my wife, such as Surprised by Joy and The Screwtape Letters, by CS Lewis, Lepanto by Chesterton and The Dream of Gerontius by Cardinal Newman. Not to forget the gift of Milo Yianoppolous’ book from a dear friend for good measure, along with Jennifer Egan’s, Manhattan Beach by another wonderful friend. I also found Franzen’s novel, Freedom, for four bucks in an op shop, so I couldn’t not, right? So a public statement here. Not allowed to buy books. Period. Except maybe Cardinal Sarah’s Power of Silence. Maybe just that one.

Lord, I need help.