“Books give us mirrors to ourselves, glimpses of who we were, who we are trying to be, who we are afraid to be, who we wish we weren’t, who we like to think we are not."
Books can and do give us so much. We read them to escape the mundane, the horrific, and the drudge and monotony of our lives in this world. We read them seeking information, excitement, drama, or calm. In the books and stories of others in every genre, we lose ourselves and we find ourselves. We find out stuff. Other people’s lives and adventures, through history and time, the facts, the heartache, sorrow, and triumphs of those in books, give us mirrors to ourselves, glimpses of who we were, who we are trying to be, who we are afraid to be, who we wish we weren’t, who we like to think we are not.
Many people are lucky enough to have had a childhood filled with parents/others who love books and read to them. I didn’t have that start. I did, however, discover both the freedom and capture of books in my late childhood at the school and local council libraries. I didn’t fit in, so I read about who I could be in the stories of popular female writers of the time, such as Austen, The Bronte sisters, Louisa May Alcott, Janet Frame and Katherine Mansfield. And because I lived in my head a lot, I kept my own diaries as many young awkward girls like me did. I loved language and words, so I wrote my own stories.
But I lost touch with books – other than nursing and mental health texts – in my early career and never got back to reading for enjoyment until I became a young mother. Unlike my own parents, I found time and the delight in buying and reading to my sons constantly through their infancy and early childhood. Many children’s stories I bought and read to/with the boys, and funnily, the stories seemed to be written for me as much as they were for them. See: all Jill Murphy’s books about the Large Family but especially the story Five Minutes Peace, the whole series of Tom and Pippo by Helen Oxenbury and everything written about Hairy Maclary from Donaldson’s Dairy, for examples of what I mean.
Nowadays books are my most favourite thing to buy, though I have to keep asking my husband to build more bookshelves. I never took to Kindle or audible books (I know they have their purpose), because I love the whole experience of sitting in a chair and holding a book in my hands. I love reading a book with my eyes, savouring the way the author writes, taking the story in gradually over days or a few weeks, or devouring it all in one or two sessions. I love the suspense and hypnotism of stories and I love the peace and personal learning books give me. I love using my imagination, and to be challenged and affirmed by what I read. And oh, how I love the smell and feel of a book, against my nose, my face. The crisp or soft pages under the skin of my fingers. And what about the myriad of typefaces and fonts, the way books are formatted, finished, and bound? Don’t some books just lure you because of the front cover, it’s title and design?
What is there not to love about books and stories? Is it time you visited our local bookstore – Petersen’s, the library or even your street book exchange?
Tessa Moriarty is a local writer. She writes regular book reviews for our store. Find her under Blogs and Reviews. Her latest review is on a book by Elizabeth Strout called: My Name Is Lucy Barton.
You can find some of her many stories and pieces online through various websites. Here are a few links:
Why I Love Books