When I was young I was very lonely. At about 10 years of age I got fat following an accident that left my arm in a cast for a number of months. My mother making that bizarre equation that we all make, that is food is love, fed me until my girth pretty much exceed my height.
Young and fat means that you have just one heck of a bunch of time to develop alternate uses for time that could have been used bonding or dating or whatever. Once you get beyond mastering the Ernest Borgnine approach to longevity you still have a copious amount of other moments to use. Personally I whiled away those seemingly endless hours by throwing myself into reading, bigger and better tomes. I was thirteen when I read the book that was used to make the movie Patton. It was by Ladislas Farago and weighed in at about 1100 pages. I also took on Look Homeward Angel, by Thomas Wolfe.
Books were more my friends than people were. Books could be controlled; people were simply unpredictable and unreliable. The few forays I made out into attempting friendships did not end well at this time. Eventually my isolation would end but it was a long time in coming. So over a goodly long number of years I kept reading. My regret now is that I wished I had been reading more of the real classics instead of Rosemary’s Baby and the purportedly hip and relevant books of the late sixties. (I still have no regrets about Vonnegut however.)
Reading still matters to me. My usual habit is to go to a large library that has a “Friends of …” organization and check out their book sales. Both here in my midsized Midwestern city and down in South Carolina at Hilton Head those 9 months off the best seller trade paperbacks sell for $1 or maybe $2. While on holiday in late August I read both The No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency and The Secret Life of Bees. Both were very, very enjoyable reads. On deck is another former bestseller Bel Canto and Midnight’s Children by Rushdie. There may come a detour before I attack this queue as I have found my old copy of Look Homeward Angel and a reread with what is ostensibly an adult mind might be interesting.
Okay so the gist of what I saying is that books kept me sane when I was young and to some degree serve the same purpose now. Personally I am wondering what book kicked in the concept that reading mattered for those of you out there that are perusing this post?
3 comments:
Sane?? Too much Borgnine, too little reading maybe. But when we go south next spring (we ARE retired, you know), I'll take your suggestion to check out "Friends of..." remainder books, rather than tote 30 lbs. of books with us.
maybe my NEXT wife won't be such a reader......we seem to wrestle over the same books we each buy to see who gets to read them first!!!
Keep your hands on your Ernie......
JDB
Beneath the Wheel...Hesse. I was in high school at the time. My youth was spent chasing balls and swimming or running after some unreachable goal (I was a jock child). I don't remember my exact impressions other than feeling a real kinship with the main character and crying a lot while reading it.
I don't have a lot of time to read for fun as I am currently reading Holistic Nursing Practice for school and it is very dull and hard to slog through. Last book I read for myself was one of the Sue Grafton alphabet books.
Vicki should give John a kicki...next wife indeed.
OK. Last, best and only!!!
She STILL latches onto my reading material!!! And threatens to tell me the endings!
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