“Maybe reading was
just a way to make her feel less alone, to keep her company. When you read
something you are stopped, the moment is stayed, you can sometimes be there
more fully than you can in your real life.” --Helen Humphreys, “Coventry”
“Curious George Goes to the Hospital”: that’s the very first
book I claimed as my own, the first volume of prose not read to me by an
adult. It was all mine to read: by
myself, for myself. A book! My book! In
the mid 1960’s Children’s Hospital in Boston
sent copies of that book by Margret and H.A. Rey, to boys and girls about to
enter the hospital for surgery. The hope was that this story about an overly
curious and mischievous monkey, who swallows a puzzle piece and needs to see the
doctor, might soothe a child’s fears and worries. It worked.
Do you remember your very first book?
To me at five years old, “Curious George” was an absolute
page turner, and made my overnight stay for a tonsillectomy much less anxious—that
and all the ice cream I could eat. That
tome made my life better, fuller, richer, more fun, and confirmed me as a lifelong
book reader, voracious book consumer, confirmed bibliophile. Some might say a
book addict. All the kids in my life
know that at Christmas or on a birthday, chances are 100 percent that they will
absolutely receive a book from Uncle John.
My home overflows with books: piled high on the nightstand, spilling off
shelves, taking over whole rooms even.
I am always in the middle of reading some book.
I’ve got books on my brain today because this week marks the
twentieth anniversary of the publication of one book that changed the state of
reading for kids, and many adults too: “Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone”,
by J.K. Rowling. Two decades on, with
107 million copies sold, that story of a boy wizard and the magical world he
inhabits, introduced a whole new generation of young people to the joy of
reading. Made reading cool again, in a
way, brought reading back to a level of communal excitement not seen for a very
long time. Folks waited in midnight
lines outside bookstores for the latest volume.
Middle school kids, parents too, cherished their dog-eared copies like
dear old friends.
Books do this. Change lives. Change the world.
Books have had this effect on humans since the publication
of the very first book by ancient Egyptians in 2400 B.C.; maybe even “Curious
George Goes to the Pyramids”—okay, probably not. But there is something magical, mystical,
even sacred about a book. Just one book
can empower the powerless, topple kings and kingdoms, spark revolutions, transform
for the good so many lives. Like the
Bible, the first widely published book, in 1517; the Quran, the sacred text for
Muslims, first organized into book form in 650 A.D.; or “Chairman Mao’s Little
Red Book of Sayings”. In the 1950’s that slim volume of political wisdom united
a new nation of 550 million people. Researchers
generally agree that these are the three most printed and read books in human
history.
Granted, every few years we’ll read a story about the
decline of book reading, even the death of book reading: as printed books shift
to electronic formats, as folks seemingly eschew a heavy print book for a
lightweight smartphone, as our attention spans shorten. “Who’s got time to read
a whole book?” But as the author Mark
Twain might opine, if he was still alive: “Reports of the death of book reading
are highly exaggerated.”
According to a 2016 Pew Forum poll, seventy-three percent of
all Americans report reading at least one book in the last year and the typical
reader has read four books in the previous twelve months. Those numbers, while down slightly in the
last decade, have held pretty steady. We may now get our book from Amazon and
not the corner bookstore, and yet we humans do still read a lot, A LOT, of books. Last year alone, more than 1.2 million new
books were published around the globe, according to the United Nations. And yes, I probably bought a fair chunk of
those!
Because I love to read and I love books.
Books keep us company: when I’m reading, I never feel
alone. Books expand our world and world
view: where else can I travel to the four corners of the planet without ever
leaving the comfort of my backyard Adirondack
chair on a summer day? Books entertain us; make us into armchair detectives or bodice
ripping romantics, science fiction rocket pilots or medieval slayers of
dragons. Books reintroduce the past to us: remind us that many others came
before us and so maybe we are really not “all that”. Books teach and
illuminate, free minds to expand and souls to soar. Books allow us to escape into realities we
could only dream about. Books engage our brains like no other activity. Books make us think, a noble ideal, especially
in times when the pursuit of knowledge for knowledge’s sake, can feel as if it
is under attack.
So here’s some summer advice. Find a good book, a comfy place to sit, get
your favorite beverage and then sit back and read. Read a book. A good book. Who knows where it
will take you or how it might change you and even the world? And if you’d like to read some Curious George,
I can always lend you my copy.
Good reading.
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