Choosing the book is the hardest part. And so pleasurable. You walk in and see the stack. You approach it slowly, with anticipation, knowing there is something there – maybe several somethings – that you want or that you actually think you need. You want to devour them all but, for propriety’s sake, you chill.
You pick one up. What was it that brought your eye-hand coordination to that one? The cover? The title? The author’s name? What if you’ve never heard of the author? You turn it over, look at the back. Hmmm… sounds interesting. Nice credentials, nice photo. You turn to the first page and read the opening lines.
That’s the part that gets me. The opening lines. If the opening lines don’t entice me, I gotta move on. I also look at the typeface. Are the words too close together? Are the paragraphs too long? And is the book hard cover or paperback? Is it too long… or too short? I think the last really short book I liked was “Jonathan Livingston Seagull” that I read back in elementary school. No offense to anyone, ok?
And so, I see if the first lines match the mood I’m in or the mood I WILL BE in. You see, buying books, I read once, is like buying borrowed time. You assume you will live long enough to read them. Which of these, in this glorious stack, do I want to invest in? Each is a mystery that I will unravel page by page. Each is a gateway into another world that I will never truly live in but that I can visit.
Well, that brings us to the real question at hand when you are there, eyes glazed over a myriad of potential gateways. It’s not really about as mundane a matter as “Which book do I want?” but as delicious a decision as “WHERE DO I WANT TO GO?” That stack of books is a pile of invitations, each one to who-knows-where.
That’s why, at least for me, I love buying books, being near books, having books around that I haven’t read… yet. The anticipation is so sweet. The promise of an adventure is so exciting. And once I jump in and am happily engaged and on that trip with those people in their lives, I know I chose well.
Sometimes it’s so good, I don’t want it to end. I have cried over books. I have held them close to my chest after turning the last page, at times delighted, at times devastated. I have felt so awed by the emotional and mind-blowing rollercoaster that a simple turn of the page can be.
Literature is a limitless passport and I, a willing and grateful traveler.
CAS Licet 