When I became infected by literary influenza (a longterm, chronic condition treatable
by a steady diet of words) I had four sources of books. The library, of course, both the one at school and the public one; the books my mother had bought through the Doubleday Book Club and had stored in boxes in the basement; the Scholastic Book Club at school; and Leukens’ Pharmacy around the corner from my house.
At first my reading tended to be omnivorous, with strong leanings toward books upon
which favorite films had been based. But these weren’t that easily obtainable then. Jules
Verne and H.G.…