Books

I love books. I used to read everything, all the time. I would wander over to our local library after school and read as much as I could, then take a load of books home with me. At different times I was into biographies, science-fanstasy, science-fiction and historical novels. I even went through a Stephen King phase in adolescence.

But since I grew up, or became a parent, or something, I haven't read nearly so much. I still love hanging out in libraries and bookstores. I still love to read. I just don't do it much anymore. I'm hard-pressed to squeeze in an article from a magazine, never mind a novel. The reading I have done has been much more serious and "useful" - you know, philosophical thought or, more recently, life coaching type material.

I think due to the nature of this thought-provoking material I tend towards now, I have a bookshelf of partially read books, each with a bookmark, waiting to be picked up again. Some days I just look at all the books and let the book choose me. Invariably whatever I pick up, and whichever page I open to, the material is just what I need in that moment. It's kind of cool. Still, I miss reading just to read. For fun.

So today I read. I picked up a book my mom had given Dee Dee: DragonSong by Anne McCaffrey. To be honest, I'm not sure it's a great book for her yet. She certainly has the reading skills and vocabulary to read almost anything, but at 9 1/2 the subject materials that match her skills tend not to match her development. I worry about it because I was the same way. People always commented on my reading skills. And I blazed through books. I did fabulously on reading comprehension tests too (notoriously well in fact - I often argued for the "wrong" answers I had provided and always won). At the same time, I don't think I could actually process the material the way all the adults around me imagined I could. Some stories and concepts just require the maturity that comes with time and experience. So I am wary of what books I guide Dee Dee towards, and this one about a fifteen year old might not resonate yet.

Anyway, I loved Anne McCaffery way back when. In fact I've read this book before. Maybe 25 years ago. I didn't remember much, but I loved it as much now as I did then. Oh to be lost in another world, to escape mine for a few hours. And maybe that's why I don't read so much anymore: I'm scared I won't want to come back from wherever I end up. The fantasy worlds in books lay far fewer demands on me, and the stories often revolve around fascinating, compelling, sympathetic characters. Perhaps I cherish the opportunity to step far enough back from a life to observe it, witness it from a compassionate distance. Perhaps I could try that with my own life and find a fascinating, compelling, sympathetic character at it's core.