I am definitely addicted to books. I had read my way through the childrens room at the Little Rock public library before I was in the 4th grade. Then I graduated to the "big library" and the meticulous censorship of the librarians. They were vigilant in keeping the "wrong" books out of the hands of young readers. However, I managed to sneak Forever Amber past their watchful eyes when I was in the 6th grade. I was mystified by the contents. We were not so sophisticated about sex in those days.
Since I have a Ph.D in literature, it is not remarkable that I have read 78 of the 100 books on the BBC list. But I have to ask myself how many of those books I really enjoyed. How many captured my imagination? Which do I remember fondly like old friends and reread often to recapture the magic? Why do I have this love affair with books?
I read books to learn. I have taught myself many skills through reading . . . knitting, weaving, computer skills, languages . . . I could go on forever. Learning is important, but, for me, books are like trains . . . they take me to places I could never visit in person. They involve me in exotic adventures and introduce me to strange and wonderful characters that may or may not appear in my real life. Stories have given me the strength to persevere through hard times. Escapism? yes. But also life saving. Stories have inspired me, saved me from boredom, and helped me accomplish the impossible.
It is, in the last analysis, not books, but stories that rescue us. And we can find those stories in a multitude of forms. Comic books, good television, the spoken words of story tellers. Stories record the fabric of our lives and the emotions that hold that fabric together.
It's about time we cherished those stories, the writers who tell them, and the books that record them for history.
No comments:
Post a Comment