< Home

The Time of Books

Dany Laferrière

As soon as I arrived in a new apartment

I would lay out all my books on the table.

All already read, and reread.

I would not buy a book unless

the desire to read was stronger

than the hunger that gnawed at me.


This is still the case for many people.

When our condition changes

we think it’s the same

for everyone.

I know those who must constantly choose:

to eat, or to read?


I consume as much meat here

in one winter

as a poor man eats in Haiti

his whole life long.

I have gone in such a short time

from forced vegetarian to obligate carnivore


In my prior life, food

was the daily worry.

Everything turned on the stomach.

The moment that one had enough to eat, all was well.

It’s impossible for those who haven’t lived it

to understand.


Two years ago, after a violent hurricane passed through Haiti, I received a letter from a young student who entreated me to let the good willed people who thought to send food to the victims that it was their wish that each bag of rice be accompanied by a case of books, for, wrote he, “We do not eat to live, but to be able to read.”



One day, I bought a book,

without any pressing need.

It lay three months unopened,

on the little kitchen table,

among the carrots and onions.

Today, I note that more than half my library

remains to be read.


I wait to be committed to a sanatorium to plunge myself into Buddenbrooks by the severe Thomas Mann or to follow the trail of The Leopard de Giusseppe Tomasi di Lampedusa. Why do we hold onto books we will never read? For The Leopard the name of the author alone was worth the price. I forget what kept me from reading Thomas Mann’s novel.


I take my leave with a small bag.

Like the one I had when I arrived here.

Nearly empty.

Not a single book.

Not even my own.


Staying but a brief night in Port-au-Prince

before speeding off to Petit-Goave to

receive this home, not far

from the old guildive my grandfather ran.

Later, I will cross the rusty old bridge

to visit my grandmother in the cemetery.


I would spend the rest of my time

chatting about everything and nothing

with people who had never

opened a book in their lives.

And that precious moment will come

sooner or later

when I confuse the books that I’ve read

with those that I’ve written.


Everything moves on this planet.

Seen from the sky one sees the south

always in motion.

Entire populations climbing

to seek life in the north.

And when everyone is there

we will fall off the edge.


Sometimes a telephone call in the middle of the night

upturns everything in an instant.

One loses oneself then in the commotion.

It's always easier to change your place

than to change your life.


I throw, in a bag, two or three pairs of jeans, three shirts, two pairs of shoes, some underwear, a tube of toothpaste, two toothbrushes, a bottle of aspirin, and my passport. I drink a last glass of water, standing in the middle of my kitchen until, one last time, I switch off the lights.