“If one cannot enjoy reading a book over and over again, there is no use in reading it at all.”
Oscar Wilde
Do you remember the first book you ever read? How about the first book you ever owned? I've been told by my mother that, even as a small child of three years old, I loved reading books. Obviously a three year old cannot actually read words, but I would look through the pictures and turn the pages. Or I would ask for a book to be read out loud to me. I do remember sitting in my mother's lap while she read stories to me, snug and secure and happy, and absorbing the tale being woven around me. I couldn't say how old I was, but those memories are surely some of my oldest.
My reading ability has always been far and beyond my strongest skill. Even though I was a year younger than my classmates (I entered Kindergarten a year early), I generally read better than everyone else. At the end of first grade, I was even given a book as a prize, of sorts, for being the best reader in the class. That is the first book I remember owning.
It was a thick cardboard book made for children; I'm sure you all had something similar. This one, though, had moving parts. It was a retelling of Goldilocks and the Three Bears. Each left hand page told the story while each right hand page had a moving scene. As you flipped each page, hidden tabs in the cardboard pages would move cut out figures of the Goldilocks, the bears, of pieces of furniture. The cutouts just shifted back and forth, but I remember thinking it was the most amazing thing ever.
I also won a book at the end of fifth grade year for being the best reader in the class. It was a red leather bound collection of all the original Sherlock Holmes short stories. I even remember what my teacher wrote inside. She said, "May the joy of books forever enrich your life." Now, to be perfectly honest, at ten years old, the tales of the incomparable Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson didn't exactly tickle my fancy. Though I eventually read the book cover to cover several times, it took a couple more years of maturing before I was able to do so. I have this book and Goldilocks and the Three Bears in my library still.
I know this will sound insane to more than a few readers, but my personal library now consists of 1,243 books, and I've read each one. Though some stick out in my memory more than others, and some really never should have bee published (in my opinion), I really have read each and every one of them, some more than once. That seems to be the question I get frequently, for whatever reason. Whenever anyone saw my collection, the first thing out of their mouths invariably was, "Have you read all of these?" No, I would reply, I buy them and put them on shelves like cheap porcelain knickknacks to feign intelligence for morons like yourself.
Okay, I never actually said that to people, but I thought it. I'm very passive aggressive, in case you haven't noticed after reading all of my ramblings. Passive aggressive is fun. You should try it. (John: I am so sorry, Dr Mandragora, I accidentally dented you car door with mine this morning. Me: That's all right, John, accidents happen. John: You are a very understanding man. Then the following week comes. Me: John, why the long face? John: Somebody lit a bottle of gasoline under my car! It's ruined! Me: Oh, how terrible for you. Don't worry, I'll give you a ride until you get this sorted out, that is if you don't mind riding in a car that has a dent in its door.)
Ha, okay that never actually happened..................or did it?
I try to promote reading to my nieces and nephews, but my words just don't seem to take. Or perhaps they do, it's just that none of them have the powerful love of reading that I do. To be truthful, they all have very balanced lives whereas I lived in my book-filled cave at their age. They are cheerleaders, sportsmen/girls, band members, horse riders, and group leaders, school editors, etc. and don't spend their time sitting around in a comfy chair with a book in their lap. They are active and responsible people, and don't have that time to sit quietly. And that's probably a good thing.
I can't help but imagine that if I had a child of my own, I would be able to introduce them to the wonderful adventures that are out there. I could take them to visit the bright lands of Avalon, I could introduce them to my dear friend Gandalf, we could fly on a starship and see wonders no one else has seen. There are hundreds things to do and see in the world of books. It would be exciting and fun, and they would build upon their own imaginations at the same time.
I would be able to pass on my loves, and my interests, and some part of myself to another generation. But as a member of Alfalfa's He Man's Woman Haters Club, that's not going to happen. Okay, I don't hate women, but there is absolutely no sexual attraction to women for me at all, and not having Michael Jackson's money, I can't pay someone to have a baby for me either. Plus, that's just creepy. So, I content myself with passing on a bit here, a bit there, and retreat once again into my stories.
My library is inaccessible to me right now. It is boxed up and sitting in a storage room with the few other items I managed to save from my previous life. I can honestly say that I miss it and the comfort that it would bring me. I've managed to gather a few things around me right now that will eventually be worthy of additions to the library. I managed to acquire an original 1902 printing of J M Barrie's The Little White Bird, as well as some more recent items, such as Reliquary and Still Life With Crows by Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child. This may sound odd, but one of my thoughts lately is concerning the welfare of my book collection. What will happen to it when I die? There is no one to leave it to who will treasure it as I do. I can't help but think it's going to be sold at an estate sale bit by bit for a pittance, and the more esoteric volumes thrown away as unwanted.
Ah well, I guess such is life. We are here, we collect stuff, and then we die, unable to take anything with us. I won't be concerned with my library's future once I'm dead. (Estate Seller: I threw the last of those old books in the dumpster, boss, can I go home now? Boss: Yes, just turn the lights off before you go. Estate Seller: What is that strange smell? Boss: Oh my God, your car is on fire! A bit later on the news. Newscaster: A car caught fire today, and eyewitnesses say they saw what looked like a ghost around the vehicle carrying a bottle of gasoline moments before the blaze. A trick of the light, or ghostly vengeance from beyond?)
Ha! Okay, that's not really going to happen.................or is it?
