{"id":57810,"date":"2013-08-14T17:00:03","date_gmt":"2013-08-14T21:00:03","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/?p=57810"},"modified":"2019-01-08T17:47:07","modified_gmt":"2019-01-08T22:47:07","slug":"confessions-of-an-accidental-book-burner","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2013\/08\/14\/confessions-of-an-accidental-book-burner\/","title":{"rendered":"Confessions of an Accidental Book-Burner"},"content":{"rendered":"

My name is Michele Filgate, and I am a book burner.<\/p>\n

The first thing you need to understand: I love books. I\u2019m the kind of girl who volunteered at the local independent bookstore when I was in middle school, just so I could get the staff discount. I come by this honestly; my grandmother was fired from her first job because she was caught reading behind the clothing racks. While some girls spent hours playing house and naming their dolls, I whiled away entire play dates alphabetizing my personal library with my\u00a0best friend. Nowadays, I\u2019m a fan of marginalia\u2014but I cringe at the idea of even dog-earing a page.<\/p>\n

In 2007, I was young and naive and penniless. My first job out of college was one of those typical sixty-to-seventy-hour-a-week gigs that so many new-to-New York dreamers end up in. Specifically,\u00a0I was a production secretary, and later a broadcast associate,\u00a0at the CBS Evening News<\/em> with Katie Couric.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

I worked long hours doing mindless things like organizing Katie\u2019s scripts while we were on air (and in one case almost spilling water on her) and sometimes important things, like taking notes during a breaking news story. Needless to say, I pictured myself as Holly Hunter\u2019s character in Broadcast News<\/em>. For the majority of my CBS tenure, I traveled from my grandmother\u2019s house in Connecticut. I\u2019d make the hour-long Metro-North trip with all the other commuters, on train cars heavy with the unpleasant odor of stale air and egg sandwiches. At nighttime, exhausted, I\u2019d sip a watery Gin and Tonic and read a book, trying to ignore the vibration of my Blackberry.<\/p>\n

After months of this monotony, I couldn\u2019t take it anymore. But my measly salary meant I couldn\u2019t afford to put down two-months rent for a place. So when a college friend\u00a0 told me a spot had opened up in his apartment, I jumped at it. It was a big sunny room\u2014my own space! Yes, I had three other roommates, but I also had a door and a closet and a few mounted shelves where I stacked my books. I carried heavy cardboard boxes up the several flights of stairs. I unpacked The Book of Disquiet<\/em> and Middlemarch<\/em>\u00a0before I even unpacked my clothes.<\/p>\n

I\u2019ve always had certain neuroses. My father was amused when I went away to a summer camp in Maine at the thought I\u2019d have to face one of my biggest fears: bugs. When I considered\u00a0moving to the big city, I\u00a0 didn\u2019t worry about getting mugged or shot; I was even okay with walking under a particularly noisy underpass to get home. What I was scared of, more than anything else, was bed bugs.<\/p>\n

And, of course, shortly after I moved into this apartment, one of my roommates announced that she had found bed bugs in her room. I immediately began to imagine them crawling all over me while I was sleeping. Bed bugs in my hair, bed bugs in my nose, bed bugs in my mouth. We called the exterminator\u2014and he showed up several times. We still had them. We called the landlord.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat do you want me to do?\u201d he said. \u201cWe have them, too.\u201d<\/p>\n

My roommates were calm and took it in stride. I, on the other hand, was a nervous wreck. I fled to my grandmother\u2019s house.<\/p>\n

I came back from a weekend escape to find my books piled in the middle of the apartment, thrown in a haphazard pile with those belonging to my roommates. The horror! I hadn\u2019t, up to this point, discovered evidence of bed bugs in my room, and now my precious books, of all things,\u00a0were mixed in with the potentially contaminated tomes. It was nightmarish.<\/p>\n

During one of the exterminator\u2019s visits, I escaped to a caf\u00e9 near Union Square. I noticed a man next to me scratching his arms. We struck up a conversation, and it turned out that he too was going through a bed bug infestation himself.<\/p>\n

Is this all NYC is<\/i>? I wondered frantically. Are all of us just food for the bed bugs? <\/i>I pictured a post-apocalyptic city where the bloodsuckers overthrew the humans, lording over them in their vampiric glory.<\/p>\n

When I couldn\u2019t take the psychological terror anymore, I broke my lease and told my roommates I was moving out. Before I retreated back to my grandmother\u2019s bed bug free home in Connecticut, I was extra careful to take some necessary steps. Everything, naturally, had to be cleaned. My entire wardrobe went to the laundromat.<\/p>\n

But what to do with my books? Even with most of my library in storage, I was still surrounded by hundreds of volumes. After much deliberation, I decided there was nothing to do but microwave them. One at a time. This was, needless to say, a long and tedious process; I spent hours watching the books spin around and around for\u00a0thirty second intervals. But there was something hypnotic about zapping the books, knowing I was annihilating any possible eggs.<\/p>\n

It was going pretty well until I got to Stephen King\u2019s Insomnia<\/i>, whose cover featured a frightening semi-featureless face draped with some kind of cloth. I had read Insomnia<\/em> only weeks before,\u00a0 riding the mercifully air conditioned subways and baking in my sun-drenched room. It was an entertaining story; one that kept me somewhat distracted for a few days from the post-college angst we all experience. I lived through the anxieties of fictional characters instead of my own.<\/p>\n

Lulled by the rhythms of the spinning books, I guess I wasn\u2019t really paying close enough attention. At any rate, I failed to note that the cover of the mass market paperback of Insomnia<\/i> is metallic. Failed to notice, that is, until a scorched paper smell spread through the apartment. It was on fire.<\/p>\n

Forgive me, Stephen King. It was my own personal Fahrenheit 451<\/i>. The rest is a horrified blur: I can\u2019t remember whether I threw the book under the faucet (even further damaging it) or if it stopped smoking when I grabbed it out of the microwave. I only know I was appalled.<\/p>\n

Years later, I would host Stephen King several times when I ran events at RiverRun Books in Portsmouth, New Hampshire. I never told him about how I destroyed one of his books. I wonder what his reaction would have been.<\/p>\n

Nowadays, my biggest fear is fire.<\/p>\n

Michele Filgate is a writer, indie bookseller\/events coordinator at Community Bookstore, and critic. Her work has appeared in <\/em>The Rumpus, <\/em>Salon, <\/em>Time Out New York, <\/em>The Daily Beast, <\/em>O, The Oprah Magazine, <\/em>Vol. 1 Brooklyn, <\/em>Capital New York, <\/em>The Star Tribune, <\/em>Bookslut, <\/em>The Quarterly Conversation, <\/em>The Brooklyn Rail, and other publications. She lives in Brooklyn.<\/em><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

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