-
Your next favorite book
is waiting.
As I look back over my long history as a reader, memories flood in regarding specific books and book-related events. A few stand out:
I recently finished
The Killing Way, a mystery by author Tony Hays. While the book was
relatively well-written, I found that I was still much more drawn to it than its
quality would seem to merit. I kept mentally returning to it, being excited
about getting back to it, only to realize I'd already finished the darned thing
and would have to wait for the sequel. In mulling over why I found this book so
fascinating, I came to the conclusion that it wasn't the plot or the writing
(although both were fine) -- it was the book's hero.
I've had numerous literary crushes over time. My first occurred when I was in
Mrs. Cummins' seventh grade English class. Every year she had her students read
The Adventures of Robin Hood. While most complained, I enjoyed the
experience tremendously. It was my first encounter with the hero, and I was
totally "in love" (whatever that means to a twelve-year-old). I even resorted
to wearing what I thought looked Sherwood-Foresty for awhile (a green shirt that
had laces strung across the v-shaped neckline, and leather moccasins that passed
for "boots," both readily available in the early 1970s, unfortunately).
There was a time when I used to enjoy having two or three books on the go at a time; but increasingly I'm becoming a one-book-at-time reader. Worse still, from the point of view of my credibility as the editor of an online book magazine, I prefer to wallow in the books I read, rather than speed reading them just for the sake of being able to say that I've read them. For me, books are not trophies to add to my 'have read' list but experiences to absorb. I can read very fast when I have to but it's not an enjoyable experience because, although I come away knowing the plot and able to hold my own in conversation, I have not 'heard' the book in my mind, so I've missed out on the cadence of the author's writing, and the rhythms of the characters and places portrayed.
When I was a teenager, my mother gave me some advice which I almost immediately ignored. We were both avid readers who preferred reading to talking and most of our limited conversation was about what we were reading.
She had enjoyed English novelist Norah Lofts's trilogy about the history of a house and the stories of the people who had lived in it over a century. "Make sure," she said," to start with the first book." But when I went to the library, it was out, so I started with the second, then went back to the first. Although I still enjoyed the books, reading the middle before the beginning and then jumping to the end gave me a kind of Alice in Wonderland sense of disjointedness. It taught me a lesson: I always try to start a series
at the beginning.
A few years ago, I made a rule for myself and then quickly ignored it. (Do I ever learn?) I decided I was keeping details about characters in enough mystery or police series already and that I would not start any new such series. That didn't work, so I modified it: I would start no series involving a protagonist who had no business getting involved in one murder after another. That vow was
much easier to keep and, except for an occasional reviewing assignment, I don't think I've broken it.
Library Journal did a special report on genealogy products last week profiling nine online resources to help you track down your nearest and dearest through the ages. This, and a delightful framed collage of sepia tinted photos hanging in pride of place in a friend's house, got me thinking about how different the experience of future generations will be to ours. Instead of searching hard and long to find connections to our ancestors, future generations will be hard pressed to extricate themselves from the weight of ancestral evidence.
Back in the dark ages when I was dating, I had a friend tell me I had no standards when it came to men – that I'd date anyone. Now,
that certainly wasn't true. I wouldn't, for example, date someone with poor hygiene or who professed to be an axe-murderer. I did have to admit, though, that my friend had a point, that I would date, well, pretty much anyone who'd ask me out. On further analysis I decided that this was not, as implied by this so-called "friend," an indication of loose morality, but was in fact an indication of strong character. It meant I didn't judge people too quickly; I
got to know them a bit before deciding whether or not a relationship had any chance of working out. A valuable gem might lie just beneath a rough exterior. I was willing to take the chance of finding out.
I'm no longer free to date (I have a feeling my husband would disapprove), so I've had to find something else to feed this need I have to try new things. That "something else" is, of course, the world of books. (Who knows? Perhaps
it was my love of constantly exploring different kinds of books that led to my willingness to sample different kinds of men.)
