On Loving Books

On Loving Books                   

My love of books comes from my parents, well, my Mom really. When I was a little girl, my Mom would read to my sister and me every day. In the morning, in the afternoon, and always at night. We would sit on the couch, one of us on each side of her, and we’d listen to her voice as the story unfolded in our imaginations. I don’t ever remember her refusing us a story, even if she was in the middle of doing something, if we asked for a story, she’d stop what she was doing and read to us.

I think one of the first memories I have of books is the way they smell. Some of the books were older or from the library and they had that wonderful, indescribable smell. I would stick my nose into it and breathe deep. You just can’t get that from a Kindle, right?

In trying to put into words why I love books, I am taken through my memory to certain points in my life where the book, and the story within it, became so big that I was transported. That I was right there and the emotion spilled over into my tiny life and that words on a page could do that just fascinated me.  I also distinctly remember being in first grade and the teacher announced we were going to read about “Dick and Jane”. I was so excited! Then the books were laid down before us and we read stunning words like, “See Dick run. See Jane skip.” I remember thinking it was the worst book ever written.

And it’s because at home we were deep into the worlds of Winnie the Pooh, Old Father West Wind, and Roald Dahl. Dick and Jane had no chance whatsoever.

I remember the first time I discovered a book on my own. It was The Lonely Doll by Dare Wright. I was enraptured. The beautiful photographs of Edith the doll and her new friends the Bears and how they formed a family just bowled me over. I read that book so many times it fell apart. One of the best Christmas gifts was a copy of that book that my Mom gave me a few years ago. I wondered if it would hold up for me, now that I was grown? And yes, yes it did. I love it still.

As I made my way through school, story time was always my favorite part. It seemed I waited all day for that wonderful time in the afternoon when the teacher would pull out a book of fiction, settle in, and read to us.

One of my most vivid memories was in the 5^th grade. Our teacher, Mrs. Purcell, who was gruff and irritable with short, poufy black hair and pink lipstick that was always on her teeth, started reading us Where the Red Fern Grows. And, oh, how I loved that book. The vivid details of Billy’s longing for his coon pups and how he worked two years to save up that $50 to buy them just took me in. I was right there with him in the Ozarks and fell in love with Old Dan and Little Ann as soon as they were introduced. My memory is of the day, well, the day we learned their fate. It was hot and stuffy in our classroom but no one was moving. We were all on the edge of our seats and I was close to tears as Mrs. Purcell’s emotion filled voice quivered as she read. As the tragic scene unfolded Mrs. Purcell suddenly stopped reading and put the book on top of her head exclaiming, “Oh my, this is so sad!” She took a few minutes to contain herself, getting a sip of water and clearing her throat, then continued on. And I cried; tears running down my cheeks, my head on my desk. The ache I felt was real, absolutely real. I remember going home and hugging our dog Rusty and crying into her fur, telling her the story of those two dogs and the boy who loved them.

And it wasn’t just fiction I loved. That I could open a book and read about someone else’s life amazed me. I read about Helen Keller, Amelia Earhart, President Lincoln and so many others. Or I could read about another civilization…it was simply fascinating. 

In high school I ended up working in the library helping Mrs. Kim for first period my Junior year. I loved it. All those books! I would roam the shelves and find treasures galore. One day I pulled out a book with the title, The Princess Bride S. Morgenstern’s Classic Tale of High Adventure and True Love. The ‘good parts’ Version Abridged by William Goldman.  To say I loved it would be such an understatement. He wrote asides and commentary and his wit was amazing. It was laugh out loud funny. And all those years later having forgotten about that gem of a book, there I was sitting in a movie theatre with my boyfriend watching this movie when suddenly it dawns on me that I am watching that book come to life. And, may I say that is one of the only times I have liked the movie as well as the book.

College brought Shakespeare, Keats, and Japanese poetry. Marriage came and when I was pregnant and on bed rest, I read about Mary Queen of Scots, Charlie Chaplin. I also read Gone with the Wind and absolutely understood why the movie was five hours long! Motherhood brought the return of children’s books and I delighted in reading to Michael. I raised a reader and that makes me proud. I continued the tradition of reading to him and we enjoyed many, many books together. We read almost the whole Hardy Boys series and The Great Brain series.  I tried reading him the Laura Ingalls Wilder books, but he really only wanted to hear Farmer Boy. Then one day he told me he wanted to read a new book by himself…some book about a boy wizard my sister had told him about. I was thrilled and that series started him off on his own reading course. He went through Narnia, the Shire, and every Goosebumps he could get his hands on.

It wasn't until two years ago that I picked up that book about the boy wizard. I was out of things to read and lamenting this to Michael who told me all seven books were sitting in his closet. I picked up the first and was astonished how good it was…I think I read it in a day. As the story got going and I finished one book and went to get the next, I wondered how people had waited between books! It took me three weeks to get through them all and I kept texting Michael… “what happens to Neville?!” “I love Dobby!”  Then sobbing, “I love Dobby!”  He was great…telling me to just keep reading. He did reassure me about Neville (Neville’s a badass, Mom!) and Hagrid, as I was threatening JK with a confundus charm if she touched them. It was cool to see him laughing at me and getting excited for me as I made my way through the series. Ms. Rowling has a wonderful way with words and descriptions and I could see Hogwarts, et all, as clear as day. I went through the series again earlier this year when my back was so bad and I marveled again at the detail in the world she created.

The power of books, of words, is what I love so much. Before I was a Christian I held that “book” (please see me doing air quotes with a look of derision on my face) as not a book. As not anything, really. Then one day I was in a grocery store and saw them advertising a book. A big sign said, “Wars! Sex! Betrayal! Love Stories! Revenge! The Bible!” It made me laugh out loud. I mentioned it to my cousin, who was a Christian, and she gave me a Bible, which promptly was tossed on my shelf.  At the time I would argue with any Christian who dared speak to me and spoke against the Bible with all the force I could muster. Until one asked if I had ever actually read the Bible? She sweetly told me to have a read before I continued to talk against something I knew nothing about.  So, I picked it up and it didn’t make any sense to me. I started in Genesis and after a few chapters was confused and a little overwhelmed. Nertz to that. Back on the shelf it went.

But, pick it back up I did and I learned a lot about it. It is a book of the law, of Israel’s history, of poetry,  of wisdom, of prophecy, and, of course, of Jesus. I learned that the Old Testament was the covenant between God and his people and the New Testament is the new covenant between God and all people, which is Jesus. That, blew my mind! I always thought they re-wrote stuff and called it “new”.  The day I learned that Jesus is the living word, and that He is alive in the words, blew my mind again. It seemed an easy jump from loving words on a page to loving the Word. As a Christian, you discover the power it has and you suddenly understand and see things in it clearly.  It has affected me more than any other book. I have been reading and studying this book for over 25 years and it never ceases to amaze me. New nuggets of wisdom and love are discovered and cherished. I write in my books and my first Bible, the one my cousin gave me, fell apart. It is in a drawer, the type too small for me to see now, even with my glasses, but oh so cherished. The Bible I bought for myself after that is showing signs of wear and tear now. I sometimes look at the old one to see how I marked certain passages and marvel at the insights I have now.

I am thankful to be a reader. I love discussing books and recommending books and am thrilled when someone likes a book I like. I joined a book club a few years ago and have read some great books. The Help. The Book Thief. Room. We've had some great discussions over these books and have forged great friendships in the process.  And, as it should be, the friendships have taken over the club and the book discussions are minimal these days, but I love knowing we've all read the same book and can exchange our thoughts, if only for a moment.

I've spoken to people who don’t read and I must admit I feel bad for them! I just picked up Sense and Sensibility and the language, the exquisite detail, seeing myself so much in Marianne, and trying to tell someone who doesn't read about it and watching their eyes glaze over…I just don't get it. There is a whole world out there ready to be explored…and it makes me sad that they don’t experience it. Even if you meet another reader, but read totally different genres, at least you can discuss and share, but with a non reader, there is nothing to say.

So, I normally don’t end my essays with questions, but I do wonder what books made an impact in your life? Is there one that you read over and over? What is it about books that fascinate you? And by all means, if you aren't a reader, I’d love to know how that came to be?

Happy Reading!