Books To Bury Me With: Michael J. Seidlinger

The book I’d want to take with me to the grave:

Tough one! I guess it would have to be Albert Camus’ The Stranger, because it became a gateway to absurdism, and more importantly the elevated principals of absurdism, how its most fundamental components, as a philosophy, is one of hope, rather than defeat.

 

The first book that hit me like a ton of bricks:

Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark when I was like eight years old. The illustrations alone were nightmare fuel.

 

The book that shook my world like a goddamn hurricane:

Tender is the Flesh by Agustina Bazterrica. If you haven’t read it, read it.

 

The book I wish I’d discovered when my liver was still intact:

I think it would be a tie between The Lost Weekend by Charles Jackson, The Recovering by Leslie Jamison, and The Horse by Willy Vlautin.

 

The book I’d shove into everyone’s hands if I were king of the world:

Eh, I’d like make it a requirement for people to read at least one book a month, but they could read whatever they like.

 

The book that nearly drove me to madness:

Trying and failing to read most books 1000 pages or longer. I just can’t. Especially nowadays, with my lowered attention span.

 

The book I’d hide in the back of my closet, pretending I’m too highbrow for it:

Probably a toss-up between all the video game tie-in novels and books, everything from those Resident Evil novelizations by S.D. Perry and video game magazines aplenty, but really no use pretending; it’s pure nostalgia and fun. What’s wrong with that?

 

The author who made me think, "Now that’s a soul in torment":

The one that instantly comes to mind is Osamu Kazai and his semi-autobiographical novel, No Longer Human.

 

The book I’d get a tattoo of if I had the nerve:

I’d get a sleeve or my entire body tattooed with lines from an unfinished novel.

 

The book that’s so damn good I’d never loan it out:

I tend to lend books out no matter their worth to me (books are meant to be read!). Thing with lending them out is you get a 50/50 chance they’ll never be returned. Maybe it’s more like 80/20… but yeah, I see books as something you pass on. 

 

The book that reminds me of a lost love or regret:

Bonsai by Alejandro Zambra.

 

The book I wish I could have written, but know I never could:

Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro. It’s a book I keep going back to, and every reread and examination I find some little nugget or nuance that really proves that there’s life between each line, a book and the story within a living breathing thing.