Tim Dowling: II love books but can't remember anything about the ones I've just read

"The oldest one is recommending the book he's just finished to me. You should read this, he says, handing me a well-thumbed paperback, which I turn over in my hands. Blue, I say. The cover's blue, yeah, he says. It's a translation, and not much happens, but it's good. OK, I say. I'm already reading a book, but I will take this on holiday with me. Now I need a new book, he says. Any ideas? This has never happened before."

"My wife also never reads the books I recommend, even though I always read the ones she recommends to me. Actual publishers sometimes ask me to provide blurbs for books, but at home my advice in these matters is both unsolicited and ignored. Until now. Hmm, I say, tapping my chin. Let me think. I'm about to go out, so The book I'm reading right now isn't that good, I say, And the book I read before that was actually recommended to me by you. Death Comes for the Archbishop, he says. A banger."

A father receives an unexpected book recommendation request from his eldest son and hands him a well-thumbed paperback with a blue cover. The son says the book is a translation and plans to take it on holiday, creating a rare moment of acceptance. The father reflects that family members normally ignore his recommendations despite his professional blurbs. He quickly finds a hardback he enjoyed and describes it as a funny period piece, which the son downloads eagerly before leaving. The interaction produces a strong feeling of validation and the possibility of a new phase in their relationship.

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