What is so wonderful about books?

It’s the wee hours of the morning. I cannot call even my closest friend; even if someone died. Not only would it be a strain on the friendship, but it goes against my severely reserved nature to reach out in such a way, no matter what.

Books, however, are my constant companion. If I lose my vision, I will have lost a very important part of my life. Books can speak both ways; being a writer has taught me that. I can converse with my chosen friends (authors) from anywhere on the world, from any time period that has been recorded faithfully, at any time of my choosing: because of books! That alone is amazing. I can also write to generations of which I have no idea. Granted, my writing may have to run a gauntlet of testing and censorship and beat some wild odds to make it to print and posterity, but it is still in the realm of the possible. I’ve needed to argue with some of these friends, yes. Some of their writings have seemed so disagreeable to my tightly held opinions that I’ve wanted to throw their work across the room. I did once, and felt very foolish, but the material was so silly that I became angry at having my time wasted. So, I can lose my temper with these friends, and they will still speak with me, steady on. Okay, speak to me, not with... But I can answer, and leave a message for the next reader to come along at any hour, in any country, and have the pleasure of my company. That’s how it works, and it does work. I can also end the conversation at any point, and resume it at any point, or never.

If the writer has captured me, and usually this is with the more imaginative works, then I am apt to neglect the relationships with the moving and breathing people around me for a while in order to give my undivided attention to the person behind the marks on the page. Amazing. I want to be able to write like that. I want my writing to be something that people seek out for comfort and companionship. If not comfort, then clarity and consideration.

So, when next I write, I hope to remember this desire: to be a friend to the one who is on the other side of my keystrokes. To say, “This is the way that I see it. Here’s what I’ve found so far. Let the next ones know what you learn from here on, please...” And even if I am my only audience, my own ideal reader, to have written something worth revisiting. Even if only to entertain myself, I would hope that I am entertained, in both of the processes of reading and writing.

Perhaps I have explained how a love of books is born. A loneliness, many might say. But the fact is that I have a crowd of friends on my bookshelf. Some have passed on, yes, and I have met none of them in person. But they have been true to their hearts, and that is why we are friends. I like the person who struggles long enough to get to the level of honesty required to put some things down on the page. That’s a special kind of character. It’s very hard to lie to yourself in writing; so even the books I wish to throw are witnesses to hard-won truths for the author’s moment in time.

Books are worthy of attention, of consideration, and yes, even of throwing if that seems appropriate. The authors and I are friends out my admiration for their craft. Turning to look at the row of books on the shelf, I think about the number of souls involved in the print found there, and find myself reconnecting with the idea of the oneness of us all. Books are the world-wide web of ideas across the seeming limits of time and probability. That is, what is the likelihood that a Russian from the 1800's would upon demand sit in my living room at 2:15 in the morning and tell me a story when I cannot sleep? There’s just too low of a probability of that happening to say that it’s possible. But with books, it’s not only possible, but commonplace. What a wonder!


Our children have been derided for being the generation of instant gratification due to microwaves, tv, video games, etc. But, I think that the fault lies in the invention of the printing press. From that point on, we became accustomed to a level of access to information and ideas that was previously unheard-of. We cannot lay our blame on each new generation and say, “They don’t know how to wait.” I fully accept and admit that my own generation and many before were masters at practicing the immediate simply by having access to so many books. And what a grand acceptance it is! I revel in it!! My heart overflows with gratitude for the invention of the press, for the authors, for the industry of the printed word, for libraries and bookstores, for my teachers. I cannot wait to read my next good book.

My daughter is interested recently in vampires. It seems that the movies of interest on the subject are limited, so she has been driven to books for more stories. She is losing sleep, staying up reading. My husband told her last night, "All you do is read! Go watch TV for a while."