What's So Great About Books, Anyway?

I’ve always been a reader. As a kid, I used to spend literally whole days just sitting on the floor of my room, or lying on my bed, with my nose buried in a book. Once, I got caught, walking home from school and reading at the same time, by my mother, who proceeded to shout at me all the way home, and effectively frightened me into never doing that again.

My parents hated my reading obsession, which is ironic considering they are the ones who started this passion in me when I was very young. They encouraged my love of books, but a constant refrain of theirs was that I would never learn things from books the way I could from “the real world”. As I got older, I naturally started engaging a little more with this “reality”, although the sight of me curled up in a comfy sofa with a book was still fairly common.

It wasn’t until university that the reading bug really bit me again, and when it did, I often found myself remembering my parents’ dire warnings that reading, while considered a good educational and recreational activity, would somehow hamper my ability to relate to real life, as it encouraged me to keep, as they said, “my head in the clouds”.

This morning, as I was sitting outside reading (Sabriel, in a brief return to my older teen fantasy days), my mother walked past me, and, shaking her head, told me to try doing something useful with my time. Her suggestion was that, if I must read something “why not read one of those law textbooks sitting on your desk? At least that way you’ll learn something.”

Now, I know that getting out there and experiencing things is the best way to learn, but that doesn’t mean that there aren’t plenty of other ways, and for me, books have taught me a hell of a lot.

Westley taught me the art of the bluff; forever fixing in my mind that what you are actually capable of matters little in the face of what your opponent thinks you are capable of.

From Anne Shirley, I learned that there is such a thing as a ‘kindred spirit’, and they are recognisable to us no matter what disguise they might wear out to protect themselves in the “real world”.

Jo, Bessie, Moon-face and Silky fed me the idea that magic does exist, so long as we want it to.

The Baginnses taught me never to underestimate people (especially on the grounds of shortness, or hairy feet)

Elphaba and Glinda remind me that no matter what you think you know about someone, there is always more to them than meets the eye (although that is arguably a lesson I also learned from one Sam Witwicky)

I could go on forever, because the truth is, I don’t think a book exists that doesn’t offer up some lesson, however small, to all those who read it.

So my reply to my parents' concerns?

Reading definitely has lifted my head into the clouds, but I like to think it’s also the reason my feet (mostly) stay on the ground, and besides, the view from up here is amazing.