The Lure of Books...

I opened a book and in I strode. Now nobody can find me. I’ve left my chair, my house, my road, my town and my world behind me. I’m wearing the cloak, I’ve slipped on the ring. I’ve swallowed the magic potion. I’ve fought with a dragon, dined with a king and dived in a bottomless ocean. I opened a book and made some friends. I shared their tears and laughter. And followed their road with its bumps and bends To the happily ever after. I finished my book and out I came. The cloak can no longer hide me. My chair and my house are just the same. But I have a book inside me. Julia Donaldson, British author of children’s books.

Today, I cleaned my book cases and rearranged the volumes so that there is some semblance of order. I like to read; I like to reread some books; I like to share; I do not throw away books.

Some of the novels, like The Book Thief, by Markus Zusak, and Sarah’s Key by Tatiana de Rosnay, both of which I have read several times, remain vivid in my memory. Likewise, some nonfiction, like Roommates by Max Apple and The Practice the Presence of God by Brother Lawrence, are equally memorable.

As I touch the Zusak book, based on true events during the 20th century Nazi reign and published after I retired from teaching, I imagine what would happen in a classroom if the teacher tore up a book, gave the students paint brushes and directed them to white wash the loose pages. I can envision these sheets hanging on a makeshift clothes line to dry. But imagine these same students trying to write their assignments on the newly painted paper. What a lesson for the teaching of tolerance as well as of literature.

As I work to shelve books laid on top of books, I remember enough of some to know I don’t want to reread them. I pull some aside to reread. I have forgotten the plots of others, but I do not have the nudge to reread them. Yet, I cannot throw books, memorable or not, away. The authors labored over these words; and while the story may not have touched me, the effort of every writer does.

A friend shared a blurb sent to her. “My favourite thing about reading a good book is when I actually forget that I’m reading it. When I devour words without really being aware of it. When I’m so lost in the world I’m reading about that I forget I’m not actually there. I hear the voices instead reading them, I feel the emotions instead of imagining them, I know characters so well that I forget that they’re only words on paper. I love and hate, I cry and laugh at paper and ink. This is the weirdest and the most beautiful thing I have ever experienced.”

Whoever the author, she, like Julia Donaldson, captures the feelings of many readers. We lose ourselves in the world of a book.

My mother, also, was an avid reader. If I were reading before supper, which I usually was, my mother would step in my room to remind me of the time. She always said, “When you finish the chapter you are reading, put the book down, wash and come to dinner.” When I reached the kitchen, no one was seated waiting on this slowpoke. Sometimes I think it takes a reader to appreciate fully what another reader is experiencing.

My earliest memories echo with the sound of my mother’s voice reading to me. I can still sense sitting on her lap with a book in front of us and hear her articulation close to my ear.

Anna Dewdney, author/illustrator of the Llama Llama children’s book series, appreciates this parent/child relationship repeated in homes everywhere.

“Empathy is as important as literacy. When we read with a child, we are doing so much more than teaching him to read or instilling in her a love of language. We are doing something that I believe is just as powerful, and it is something that we are losing as a culture: By reading with a child, we are teaching that child to be human."

2019