Talking about discovering a history of psychoanalysis in the 'Land of Saints', i.e. Morocco, in French, in a down-at-heel bookshop in Casablanca, Alexander McCall Smith* goes on:
"This book was irresistible. It is a mistake not to buy books as unlikely as that; I once spotted a large tome on monastic sign language in a used books store in Toronto but caviled at the outrageous price. Returning to Scotland, I regretted my failure to buy the book: of course I would have loved to have had it, with its lengthy photographic section showing Trappist monks signing their various messages: 'The Abbot says that bell must be rung ... We must plant potatoes again this year.' That sort of thing.
I returned to Toronto the following year and made my way to the bookstore in question. Going up to the desk, I asked the proprietor whether by any chance - and I said I knew it was a remote one - they had in stock a book on the sign language of monks. He looked at me in astonishment that shortly became delight. 'As it happens,' he began ..."
Have you ever had a similar experience, coming upon something delightfully recondite or special, leaving it behind, regretting not buying it, perhaps even returning to find it again?
