Lost and Found in Adaptation
Of bookish love and film
Being of a generation that found joy, release, longing, belonging and mercy in books, I sniff around this subject warily, fully aware of my bias for story on the written page. Oral storytelling comes close, but hits different spots. We hold on to books for dear life, not just to the stories within but to their form, as familiar and different as a lover on different days—the smell of the spine, sometimes calling up a darkened room with its knot of anticipation, othertimes a whiff of peeling teflon; and always, the weightlessness of the pages, crackling with possibility or clammy with rains past, begging to disengage and disgorge.
Despite that bias, plus a too-slim repertoire of films watched, especially adaptations, I am intrigued by the subject Torchlight has put before me: bookish love ...
