The Pasley Island Book Society

For fourteen years, I have found myself, each summer, secluded upon an essentially barren island devoid of even the barest essentials; heating, light switches, cars, and, on some occasions, ones basic nourishment. Two months of near isolation (exempting, of course, a steady stream of “guests” who never cease to exhaust our scant recourses) in a mosquito ridden, musty, four roomed cottage typically deters one from a prolonged visit, particularly my generation, of whom will find the lack of internet a horror to behold. However, Pasley can also be a brand of paradise for those who find the idea of isolation from society desirable; luckily, I am one of those people. Books have always been a solace for me, and, when not beating my brother at cribbage, puttering around in our skiff (dubbed the Dawn Treader to further demonstrate my infatuation with literature) or engaging in some island type feat, I am reading, mercifully undisturbed by the distractions of civilization. Generally, this is a pastime of solitary nature, one an individual can indulge own whilst soliquested in some placid bit of scenery. However, this year I have decided to discard this privateness and swap it for what I entitled “The Pasley Island Book Society.” Our first meeting commenced upon a pleasant Monday afternoon, supplemented by tea, cake, and shortbread. Due to the range of ages and interests, our club took on a slight contemporary edge; allowing or members to read and review whatever their heart desires. The books thus encompassed almost every genre; I providing the quintessential feminist facet with the color purple by Alice Walker, and our middle aged representatives putting forth several murder mysterious, whilst the younger members discussed “From where you reach me” by Rebecca Stead . The general atmosphere was rather lighthearted and more carefree than one with a highbrow approach to literature may have aspired to; but the meeting, prolonged due to the arrival of cake, was deemed on overall success. A list was composed afterwards contain all books reviewed during the conference, prompting subscribers to exchange and inquire after particularly fascinating novels. I for one was the happy recipient of “Master and Commander,” a sea novel written by Patrick O’brein recommended by my father for any individual drawn to the coast (inevitable when you live all summer on a waterfront property.) And thus, with a promise to assemble again next week, and a disheartening look at the mountainous pile of dishes, our inauguratory meeting concluded.