In The Pages of Books

I love to read.

I have loved reading as long as I can remember. I remember mom taking us to the library regularly. It seems like it was every two weeks. It may not have been that frequently, but it seemed like we were there quite often. I loved the library. It smelled of books, and there was what I thought of as an almost reverent hush when we walked in. It was as if the books were waiting for us, for me, with their promises of information and knowledge, mystery and adventure, romance, friendship, escape.

Books were always an escape for me. When I couldn’t deal the the angst and drama of childhood, there was a story from another world or reality waiting for me. I adored Charlotte’s Web and cried every time when she saved Wilbur, and when she died. I traveled along with Stuart Little, escaped with James and His Giant Peach, related to Ramona more than her older sister Beezus. I traveled the universe via tesseract in A Wrinkle In Time, solved mysteries alongside of Encyclopedia Brown, sat in silence with Anne Frank, laughed with Pippi Longstocking. I can’t count the number of times I read Judy Blume’s Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret. I related to Margaret so much I was sure that if she were real, we could have had a long conversation.

When I got older, I discovered J. R. R. Tolkien. I have traveled the journey of The One Ring so often, I feel that Aragorn, Gimli, Legolas, Boromir, Gandalf, and all those Hobbits are near and dear friends. I drop in for a visit with Meg, Jo, Beth, and Amy often enough to feel a kinship with them. I solve mysteries with Sherlock Holmes, Hercule Poiroit, Miss Marple. I travel back in time and live in the world of Pride and Prejudice and Sense and Sensibility every now and again. I run with Aslan on the other side of the wardrobe, and get lost in The Mists of Avalon. Douglas Adams taught me that if the world is ending, I better have a towel.

And of course, you never know where you will go when you pick up anything by Steven King.

There have been new things along the way. I have lived at Hogwarts and in Jim Butcher’s magical world in Chicago with Harry Dresden. I have suffered the loss of most of my favorite characters in George R. R. Martin’s Song of Ice and Fire. With my son, I traveled in a Magic Tree House and on the wings of dragons. Oh the places you can go.

The thing is, I feel a sort of agreement, almost a contract, is in place when I open a book with the intent of reading it. See, books aren’t just an escape, they are a lifeline. So if they are going to invite me in, the least I can do is stay for the whole journey. I remember one time, a single time, that I deliberately put a book aside and did not finish it. It was the second book of a series, and the first book was headed to an obvious and logical conclusion….and then didn’t go there. I felt angry and tricked by the book, as if that ending was written specifically with the intent of selling another book. I just didn’t feel that the characters would behave the way they did. I had read every book I have committed to, I think, but that one.

Until Moby Dick.

I was hating it, but forcing myself to read it. And then a friend said an amazing thing. “You don’t have to finish reading it, you know.”

Wait, what?

And so…..I put it down. And did not finish. And I am fine with that. I tried, Moby, but we were just not meant to be.

I have four books I am currently reading. A Connecticut Yankee In King Arthur’s Court. With all due respects to Mr. Twain, I am not especially enjoying it, but am interested enough to finish it to see how it ends. A book about the Underground Railroad that I can hardly wait to have more time to get further into. A book about the Oregon Trail that is interesting but not what I thought it would be so I may or may not finish it, and Fairy Tale by Stephen King. That last one is my treat. I get it when all my work is done. Or until I just cannot wait a moment longer. But never, ever right before bed.

I guess commitment is like reading a book. If you have tried everything, given it your all, and it just isn’t working, maybe it’s time to close the book. But. If you give it everything you’ve got, don’t give up, open your heart and mind to the pages, you just might get more out of it than you thought you bargained for.

That is definitely worth the journey.

Peace,

Kathie