Reading Rainbow

I have lived in Spanish speaking countries over pretty long periods of times. I used to spend my days reading linguistic theory in Spanish and editing bilingual Spanish-indigenous language dictionaries in Guatemala. Now I spend my days in the D.F. reading long Mexican judicial opinions, articles, and statutes. I have no problem leading my professional and social life completely in Spanish, but the one thing I have never been able to give up is novels in English. Searching through piles of used books in a store or picking through the few books in English that some streetside vendor has gotten his hands on, you can get a pretty good idea of the kind of gringos that have lived in a place.

Panajachel, Guatemala was rife with Vietnam war vets, and most of the novels were detective or spy stories that centered around hard-drinking, hard-living, independent men who have high ideals and a difficult time relating to the rest of the world. The population in Antigua, Guatemala was a little older and more conservative--and more feminine. There was a never-ending supply of Danielle Steele, but, at least on my part, NO demand. Military novels, best sellers, and mysteries.

One summer I lived in the back of an old hotel in Antigua. To get to my room, I had to pass through the American Legion library. At nights, when the library was closed, I would make tea and wander around the musty rooms, made even mustier by the thick colonial walls that had absorbed centuries of rainy seasons. Long shelves were filled with mildewed copies of Reader's Digests from the 50s. It was always a bizarre experience, like a forgotten monument to an American generation in the middle of the Guatemalan highlands.

The eclectic mix I run across in used bookstores in Mexico City belies generalizations about the English-reading population here. I find myself vacillating between "The Canterbury Tales" one day and an installment of "The Babysitter's Club" the next.

There is one thing that many of these books have in common. Even more so than used bookstores in the States, the books are often inscribed, or have, at least, some kind of note on the inside cover. The names almost always sound midwestern and wholesome. "To Len, with love, Sandy." "To Grace, from your grandmother." "The Miller Family." The stories behind these inscriptions, and behind these books, always fascinate me. How did the books get here? Is there more of a tendency to inscribe a cheap paperback when your loved one is heading off into the great unknown? Or did these books pass through a million hands before they ever got to a used bookstore in Latin America? Where are Len and Grace now, and do they know their books are in a foreign country?

Of course, there are other kinds of notes too: "*have read"--this is a sign that the books you are reading are all far too similar. And my favorite, in an Agatha Christie I got today: "Nov. 2000. Me encantas, desde hace mucho tiempo ? P.D. No es broma." A loose translation: "Nov. 2000. I like you A LOT, and have for a very long time ? P.S. This is not a joke."

(If you're looking for used English language books in Mexico City, check out El Ático, on Alvaro Obregon, close to the corner with Orizaba. Next door is A Través del Espejo, with a smaller selection--but I did find a copy of Brideshead Revisited there last week.)