Poisoned Purple Pen

Dr. Bilbo

Prompt: A recent article in the Wall Street Journal explores bibliotherapy, "detox" book recommendations to help treat issues like stress, procrastination, and bereavement. The founder of the Book Pharmacy in Berlin suggests that "there are 'detox classics,' including epics like The Odyssey, and 'detox-by-distraction' bundles of crime, romance, or fantasy." Write a short story in which a character visits a "book doctor." What might prompt this sort of treatment? Which books are prescribed, and do they work as a cure? Are there any side effects?


It's weird to think a book can cure you from the blues. Stranger still to find myself walking into a doctor’s office where the prescription pad is replaced with wall-to-wall bookshelves. but at this point, I had nowhere else to turn. And before you ask; yes, they really do exist.

Books always held great charm for me, and with my vivid imagination constantly running wild I could always lose myself in one. You might think an active imagination is a good thing, and I’d agree. Except for when it isn’t. For those days and nights when the negativity and bad vibes interrupt and my imagination takes me to the darkest of places. Those are the days I find it difficult to get out of bed, get dressed, eat, oh hell, function. Today, I managed to drag my ass out of bed and out of the house for the sole purpose of seeking help.

Here I sat in a comfy leather chair, waiting for Dr. Bilbo to assess my situation and tell me what book would pull me out of my doldrums, and in turn, make me give a damn again.

He sat behind a glass desk, fingers steepled and studying me until I squirmed in my chair. His dark hair had that rumpled, just gotten out of bed look and I found myself thinking maybe he was in need of a detox by distraction as well.

“A broken heart. Depression. Insomnia. I’d even go so far as to say you also suffer from pent up sexual frustration.”

My eyebrows rose listening to the monotone way he’d said it, as a pang of sadness gripped my heart like a vice. Damn this guy was good.

“True. Do you really think reading a book is going to help me bounce back after losing my husband?”

“It won’t hurt you to try. You’re not sleeping anyway, and reading may help you with the sleep deprivation.” He stood up and moved around the desk. “Come.”

I got up and followed him out to the bookshelves that lined the outer office, wondering what kind of book would be thrust into my hands. The last thing I needed was a book telling me something I already knew.

Dr. Bilbo pulled a paperback from a shelf and handed them to me. To my horror, I read the titles and cringed. “Porn? You want me to read pornography? No thanks.”

He snatched the book from my hand and laughed. “It’s hardly porn.”

I opened my mouth to speak, but he cut me off.

“No, it’s not a fluff erotica either. It’s a romance novel, and yes, while it may have intimate moments between the lead characters, it’s well written.”

I shook my head, staring at the infinity ring surrounded by green and purple flower on the cover. “I don’t see how this will help. At best, it’s going to make me long for things I no longer have. How is that helping me?”

“Before you start reading, I want you to curl up in your favorite spot. Close your eyes and picture you and your husband when you were just starting out. Remember what it felt like back then to be in love, not a care in the world.”

I had done that so many times over the years I didn’t think that doing it again would bring me anything but more heartache. I spent months crying until I could cry no more. “Doc, please. I don’t think I can take myself back there.”

“You can. I know it’s going to be difficult, but you need to feel. You need to remember. Get lost caught up in the storyline.”

I took the book back and nodded, doubting that a story would wash away the constant numbing I was feeling.

Opening the book that night, I held little expectations, aside from some sappy romance that would leave me feeling more alone than ever.

It is in every word he speaks.
In every gentle kiss upon my cheek.
In those quiet whispers in the dark.
In the rapid beating of our hearts.
In the way he holds me tight.
In his vibrant shining light.
For I am him and he is me.
For now
Forever
Eternity

Tears blurred my vision and rolled down my cheeks. How did the author know? How had she managed to describe how I saw my husband? How did she know that when I thought of us, I saw eternity?

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