Story telling is an art form, one of the oldest surviving perhaps, but artistic nevertheless. One can polish this art, embellish it by adding musical notes to it, create dance steps around it, but as long as it adds on to narrative and uplifts it further, it is well worth it.

There are stories that we hear once and forget promptly. And then there are stories that we hear over and over again, and wish to hear, well, over and over again. These are the stories that have taken on gigantic proportions and become fables, parables, epics, legends, mythology, folklore and, sometimes, even tradition.

The test of a good story is its resilience, its staying power, and its enduring quality.

Psychologists and physiologists might divide everyone into visual or audio learner groups, but observing a crowd of rapt toddlers around an animated storyteller I am convinced that it is the manner in which the story is being told that makes all the difference.

There are several books I picked up on my last visit to a bookstore in a brand new mall in Amman. Placed bang opposite a fancy supermarket, this place is a haven for booklovers. The visual display itself is a pleasure and the collection of titles is enviable, but the prices, converted straight from the British pound, plus taxes, remains a strong deterrent.

However, armed with a bundle of books I made my way to the checkout area, giving myself the last few minutes to make up my mind to try and discard at least two tomes from the pile of 10 I had selected. Each of the books I tried to leave behind silently pleaded with me to buy it. I know I tend to dramatise the scenario a bit, but this is exactly what was happening.

So it is no wonder the lady at the cash counter was soon losing patience. It would happen like this: I would hand her a book to be checked for payment, she would run it through the till machine. The cash register would ring and I would take the book back and ask the clerk to cancel the order. I would then reach for the next book and hand it out, while keeping the first one tightly clasped in my other hand. We carried on in this manner for some time. Amidst all this, I even found time to assess the contents of my wallet and thought of placing a quick emergency call to spouse. He was out of the country on an official trip and our time zones were not compatible.

Eventually, we came to a compromise. No, not the checkout lady and me, she had long given up and passed me on to the older, patient-looking clerk. I conceded with the tussle in my head over the book choices, and gave in to myself. In a sudden flurry of snap decision, I bought all of them.

My joy at acquiring brand new books is unsurpassable. The pile, and it is an impressive pile, delights me every time I pass it. The choice of reading them one after another is complicated because I want to read all of them at once. On the other hand, I also want to read them slowly because I do not want the stories to finish ever so fast.

The dilemma is excruciating.