Everyone who knows me at all knows how I feel about books.
In case you don’t, here is a summary statement: I love them.
I learned to read before I even have memories. One of my first memories is sitting in my Mother’s lap. She’s holding a book about a squeaky bicycle. Reading to me. I am unhappy because she is skipping pages. “No, Mommy. That isn’t how it goes.” I flipped back the pages, pointed my grubby little toddler finger at the words, and read them to her.
How old was I? I really don’t know. Little. Very little. Maybe four?
In my mind, I have no identity that is separate from reading. I have always read. I have gotten in trouble for wanting to read “one more chapter” my whole life. I still neglect things at home in order to read. I stay up too late if a book is interesting. I simply cannot imagine a life without books. I don’t want to imagine it.
I love books in all forms. Old. New. Hard cover. Paperback. Some people were put off by e-books. To me it was simply a way to always have my books with me. If I love a book, there is a very good chance that I own it in both physical and electronic formats. It is incredibly comforting to me to have all of Jane Austen’s novels with me at all times. Plus, from a practical standpoint I also love that electronic books do not require dusting or shelf space. Moving them is simple. Some day, they need to figure out the licensing so they can be loaned out more easily from both individual people and from libraries.
Some people have issues with loaning books. Me, too. I tend to dislike the risk of loaning out a cherished book. However there are some books that I feel so strongly about that they live in a perpetual state of loan.
One of the best things that can ever happen is for me to recommend a book to someone who loves it as much as I do. It’s rare. People have very different tastes. I am a bit of a reading omnivore. I read trash. I read French 19th Century classics. I read modern literary fiction. On occasion I’ll even read non-fiction or self help books.
“The Sparrow” and “Children of God” by Mary Doria Russell are the two books that really never come home.
It started with my parents. Mom read them, and she liked them so much that had Larry read them. I was up for a holiday, and she loaned me her copy of the Sparrow and said I could have Children of God as soon as Larry was done. I couldn’t wait. I bought a copy as soon as I was finished, and also a copy of the Sparrow.
Then I started telling people about it.
My book club.
Every reader I know.
Strangers on the street who I’d overhear talking about good books.
My in-laws.
Strangers online.
I have probably loaned out the books twenty or more times over the years. A few months ago, I loaned them to a co-worker. He finished it and brought “the Sparrow” back today. I handed it straight over to another co-worker.
It is in a sad state of repair. There is a section that falls out. The cover comes off. It’s fallen in the bath and nearly died. It has been read nearly to death.
It’s the Velveteen Rabbit of books, except in this case I think that if I love a book hard enough it’s ME who becomes more real.
You should read it.
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