I would like to take a moment of your time to consider the bliss of the book in the bath. Picture the scene for me – It is raining outside. There is the comforting continuous clatter of raindrops on the windowpanes, and you sink deep down into a hot, lavender scented rub of steamy satisfaction. You rub a little soothing soapiness into your shoulders and breathe in the absolute lack of deadline. There is a large, solid candle with multiple wicks at the foot of the bath making a consoling crackle, flickering pretty patterns through the steamy goodness.
There is something revitalising about a hot soak in a tub where time is meaningless and you can just breathe in the moment and relax. The only things thing needed now, is a good book for when the bliss of an empty head has passed, and you are ready to be transported.
For me Bath Books are a very careful consideration indeed – I love a frivolous bath book and something like the Bridgerton series, The Other Boleyn Girl or a Trisha Ashley/ Katie Fforde type book will generally hit the spot for me. However, when choosing a bath book one must take into account the effect of the steam – As a rule I never take a borrowed book into the bath, nor do I usually take brand new books into the bath. I am a fairly clumsy person at times, and while I have only ever dropped one book in the bath (and one phone), the memory haunts me still. New books, and other peoples books, are not for the bath tub.
Until yesterday. Yesterday I broke my own rule in favour of She Who Became The Sun, by Shelley Parker-Chan. I was simply too immersed in the story – I could not bring myself to read any other book until I had gotten to the end of this one. I needed to know what happened. And so, despite it being a new book, a gift for my birthday, I took it into the bath with me.
It went fairly well – a few wavy pages appeared, courtesy of the bath steam, but nothing that couldn’t be attributed to the book having lived a well loved life. It was all okay. Until the time came to get out of the bath and move elsewhere. Since I had not yet finished the book (barely even halfway), and I couldn’t stand the idea of going to sleep not knowing just a little bit more, I thought that I had best move my reading session somewhere a little drier and dive right back in. I very carefully picked up the rather large candle, and headed for the door. I then proceeded to trip over the towel, and spill at least an hours worth of melted wax over my phone, the side of the bathtub and my brand new book.
Thank goodness for cover protectors I suppose.