Phantom Limb

I’m nudged, by not one, but three, entries on Norman Geras’ blog, to the realisation that I have a literary phantom limb. I clearly remember a hardcover edition of Nevil Shute’s On The Beach in my parent’s bookcase. Where the book ended up, I do not know. All that is certain is that it did not end up with me. And yet, I wish I had read it at the time. I saw the film (which Shute himself hated) and it haunted me. Time to track down a copy of the book for myself and to reattach it into my library.