The Reading Life

I don't remember a time when I didn't read.  I know there were years before I learned to read.  Even then, I pretended to read.  I once 'read' a Dr. Seuss book to a little neighbor girl, simply repeating 'pee pee pee pee pee pee pee' over and over until she ran to tell our mothers I said a bad word.

Readers were asked recently the book that first ignited their passion to read.  I relished the 'Dick & Jane' readers because the teddy bear was named Tim and I thought it made me famous.  However, the first book I read, a real  story that demonstrated how words could transport you to someplace other than your bedroom was 'Black Beauty'.

I might have been in the 2nd grade and my Grandma Callies gave me a colorful, illustrated edition.  There were beautiful drawings throughout, and pages with lots of words, even paragraphs.  I lived every sentence, terrified of the fire in the stable,  feeling deep sadness over the cruelty Black Beauty endured and relief when she was old and found a nice home.

I was hooked, addicted.

I read 'Black Beauty' countless times.  More books and stories followed.  I discovered libraries and bookstores.  I spent hours in my bedroom reading.  As I got older, my allowance, when it wasn't spent on Hot Wheels or Matchbox cars, was spent on books.

No one is surprised by my personal library.  I have a lot of books.  The last time I moved there were more than 40 boxes of books.  While I believe you can never have too many books, I know that is 'hoarderspeak' and I've learned to cull my collection from time to time.  My 20-plus years as a bookseller taught me shelf space is a valuable commodity, especially when you continue to add to your collection.

I am rarely without a book.  If I go anywhere and there is the off-chance I will be waiting for someone, a doctor or dentist, a friend for lunch, I have a book.  I belong to a local book club.  I have a stack of books to read next to the bed and a list of books I'd like to read; both grow bigger every month.

There are pitfalls to this addiction beyond the dust created by so many books in the house.  Worse, is my inability to put a book down until it is finished, regardless.  This used to be a serious issue for me, but I've gotten better at putting a book aside if it is failing to captivate, chalking it up to 'wrong time, wrong mood' and hoping to try again later.

This doesn't mean I haven't exercised some discretion.  I recently read a dreadful piece of schlock for our book club.  Actually, I skimmed much of it; something I've never done.  Were it not a book club read, I would have tossed this book in the trash before the first 50 pages.  I remember another popular book, the follow-up to a hugely successful book by an author who does not like anyone to edit or proofread his work.  Typos and grammatical errors are like razors to my eyes and I found a half dozen within the first two chapters and closed the book.

I have suffered some insufferably boring books.  Just because it won the Pulitzer does not make it an exciting read.  Or a good read.  As an experienced reader, I know I have to give a novel the minimum of 100 pages to really start moving.  Sometimes this rule works, sometimes it doesn't, but by then I'm committed to the novel and will most likely finish.

I'm reading one of those books right now, nearly giving up after more than 100 pages of sniveling, depressed narrator.  Then the author switched narrators. 

I think I'm going to be glad I stayed with it.