Anyone who says they have only one life to live
must not know how to read a book.
~anon
Author Jonathan Franzen says, “…books can do things, socially useful things, that other media can’t … We are so distracted by and engulfed by the technologies we’ve created, and by the constant barrage of so-called information that comes our way that…more than ever to immerse yourself in an involving book seem socially useful… [there’s a] place of stillness that you have to go to in order to read.”
Two months ago I decided to reread John Simon’s slender volume, Paradigms Lost: Reflections on Literacy and Lewis Thomas’ Et Cetera, Et Cetera: Notes of a Word-Watcher. Reference books about writing, word usage, grammar and punctuation take up a good deal of space on my bookshelves. Each time I open one of these books I learn a bit more about the craft of writing (a work in progress if there ever was one!).
Next in line on the bookshelves are volumes about PNW history, biographies, creative non-fiction and books of poetry.
For the past month I’ve been wading through David McCullough’s 1983 tome, The Great Bridge—the story of the planning and building of the Brooklyn Bridge.
I’m fascinated by all kinds and types of bridges, admire McCullough’s writing and in awe of his thorough research. The book is a true tour de force for him. However, because it is so filled with engineering and architectural data and so dense with social, familial and political back story, after only 10 to 15 pages I need to put the book aside and attempt to digest what I’ve read. At this rate, I’ll finish the 562-page book in another month.
Much as I am enjoying the story, I know the majority of the details won’t be remembered. This isn’t a recent revelation and I wish it weren’t so true.
Some of my friends (most of whom are voracious readers) are able to recall all manner of detail from books they have read. I have intense admiration for this type of mind.
I inhale books, absorb words like water through every pore of my body and revel in the mental pictures conjured up. I’m fully involved as I’m reading. However, when I’ve reached “The End,” only wisps of the story stay in my mind—until, that is, I am talking with someone else who has read the book (or knows something of the subject).
Comments on the plot, character or setting will often elicit small recollections and, as my mind releases fragments of book-memory, I feel comfortable adding something to the conversation. I just wish I remembered more!
Books can be a comfort, an escape, a tool, a resource, a delight—books can do things! So, I’ll finish my march across The Great Bridge, pick up another book at the end and I’ll begin to read once more—one book after another—because the bookshelves are vast and deep and I have pages to go before I sleep!*
Books can be a comfort, an escape, a tool, a resource, a delight—books can do things! So, I’ll finish my march across The Great Bridge, pick up another book at the end and I’ll begin to read once more—one book after another—because the bookshelves are vast and deep and I have pages to go before I sleep!*
