I have some things I am excited to make this year, a few movies I’m anxious to see, and lots of books I’d like to read.
We have a great deal of books. One might say “too many”, but One would not be entirely accurate. I classify the measurement as “We just need one more bookshelf. And maybe a wall to put it on.”
My grandfather’s house held a library. I believe most of it was there when they moved in (back in the ‘40s), but he was the one that added all of the law books; I tried to read a couple of those but was more drawn to the antique copy of The Arabian Nights I found there.
I was given books instead of an allowance as a kid… hard work turned into a different kind of paper; I earned those copies of “The Apple Dumpling Gang” and “The Shining” (I believe I read both those books in the same year).
I always wanted to be an author. I suppose after almost two years of these columns I can say that I’m a writer, but to be an author, you need a book. So that’s on the list too this year, along with finally soldering together that guitar distortion pedal kit. And finishing the LEGO car.
The giant chain bookstore down the street from my job is closing in seven days. There used to be tons of these, competing brands, all across the country, and I remember the thrill of the endless selection and scandalous inclusion of fully sanctioned hot beverages you could just carry around.
As a bookstore fan, It made me happy to think that these literary behemoths were necessary, that there was good business sense behind opening one at the end of a mall and another only a few miles away, that a demand for reading materials in the nation necessitated such spectacular supply.
I don’t enjoy libraries. I never have. My grade school had Sisters and Misses: Sister Janet Helen, Miss Kraft, Miss Indra. The librarian was Sister Cat(herine), a fine lady, nice and not at all mean, and pretty super progressive for a midwestern nun in the 1970’s. But most of the books in the library were covered in this crinkly plastic wrap, and of course they weren’t YOUR books, so you had to be very careful with them when you read them. My favorite book was “Family Sabbatical”, a book that effected me so deeply that 40 years later I found a copy of it on eBay (from a library, of course).
But I love bookstores. I think for me it’s the difference between a zoo and a pet adoption center; zoos, even at their most humane, seem voyeuristic and separate from your own life, you are visiting the home of all the creatures who live there, while a bookstore holds the thrilling potential of bringing something home that you will love forever.
And now very few remain. The building housing the one by my work is being renovated into what’s rumored to be pickleball courts. Which is equally sad as both metaphor and literal statement.
My first job was in a bookstore; I steered a customer away from buying the expensive new Stephen King book for their ten year old (I did give her other options, but they were slightly cheaper); the manager was angry about losing the sale and sent me off the floor to clean the tiny gross employee bathroom; but since we were in a mall I bought I contact paper and brighter lights along with the cleaning materials and renovated it, and the employees loved it, and he fired me on the spot. We couldn’t even shop there anymore.
Anyway, I think I’ve figured it out. I look at the books in my home and remember not plots or stories, but feeling worried about Sherlock Holmes and those dogs, sympathetic with Holden Caufield’s malaise, uplifted by Aladdin’s bravery, strident regarding Dorothy Parker’s relationships, and so very amused by the hijinks of the Apple Dumpling Gang.
Books are where I learned empathy, even though I was alone. And when I walked through a bookstore I was not choosing adventure, but emotional alignment. And now, when the smartphone won’t give me space to catch my breath between pronouncements of disaster and tragedy, it is this empathy that sustains me, a base built on the wisdoms of both Maya Angelou and Zaphod Beeblebrox.
I keep these books around to remind me that I know how to feel, to remind me to keep feeling, no matter the circumstances the world throws at me, because I’ve already survived a long cold winter at the Overlook hotel.
And if I made it through seven years at Hogwarts, I’ll probably be able to get through another election year.
Book Report