Of reading.
I know it is after Christmas and the lead-in seems to cover many nouns that describe the holiday season. However, the two words in the opening paragraph are here to disabuse you of that notion. This post is about the joy of reading. It is about the gift of reading. It is about the art of reading. In short, this post is about reading. Plain and simple.
Earlier today, I read a post on Twitter that referred to this article from The Guardian:
http://www.theguardian.com/books/2013/oct/15/neil-gaiman-future-libraries-reading-daydreaming
The article provided a rather startling statistic/common practice – future prison capacity is largely projected by the number of 10-11 year-olds who currently can’t read. Although the writer, Neil Gaiman, goes on to explain that the numbers do not have a direct correlation, he does make it clear that the number of jail cells needed in the future does factor in this subset of fifth and sixth graders. That is a frightening correlation.
Gaiman then goes on to describe what benefit reading fiction provides to children (and adults). I really would like all to read the article, therefore I won’t go into great detail about what he says. One of the benefits, reading to find out what happens next in a story, is a Pavlovian-like response for me. It was that way when I was a child who would stay up all night to complete an extremely interesting book and continues to be that way as an adult who cannot stay up all night but will stay up past my bedtime to reach a stopping point. That need to know what happens next can also be regarded as curiosity, something with which I am very well acquainted. It is the motive for so many seemingly random things that I do.
Another point Gaiman touches on is empathy. The process of reading is an active use of imagination that combines the author’s imagination to create the original story that is committed to paper and the reader’s imagination to make the words come to life in the reader’s mind. With recreating the black and white words that appear on paper into emotions that are recreated by the reader, empathy is achieved. Ever read a book and feel as if you have walked a mile in the character’s shoes? You have empathy to thank for that. Although the process of reading a book is often a solitary pursuit, it allows us as readers to connect with the experiences of those who are not us, those who are not like us and those we do not know intimately. Reading has the power to make a stranger’s existence something about which we should care when there are no other cues otherwise.
One of the most profound benefits of reading is one with which I struggle with constantly – the ability to see that things do not necessarily need to be the way that they are. I am currently not far from Ferguson, a place that now only goes by one name like Madonna or Matisse but for all the wrong reasons. If it had not been for books that I’ve read or the experiences books have inspired me to have, I would not be able to deal with the reality of the place that I find myself. Even those buttresses of knowledge and experience are worn thin in places, however I find myself grateful in knowing, by reading and experiencing, that this is not the way of the entire world, nor is it the way things must be. I take solace in that many Twitter posts that I read from protesters make references to a different vision for this area. The written legacies of those who have come before them provide an alternative vision of how things can be that I hope they can bring to fruition. There is power in knowing that Ferguson today seems like Birmingham of yesterday and realizing that the Birmingham of yesterday no longer exists.
Libraries. This is one of the last points on which Gaiman touches. I have had a well-used library card almost everywhere I have lived. Libraries, to me, are repositories of people, places, things, ideas and experiences all (or most anyway) under one roof. For that which is not under the same roof, there is inter-library loan. Within the four walls of libraries, I have discovered new ideas, checked out movies and music not necessarily within my range of interest, used the computers when my internet service was not on or not working, listened to a guest speaker present information on a topic that seemingly had no relevance to me but quickly caught my interest. The library always has and always will be like a light that illuminates darkness. Libraries will always draw me as if in a daze for it is there that I have found some of the best things.
Another post about the importance/benefit of reading:
International Literacy Day
PS:
Men, one of the quickest ways to attract my attention is to have a book whose title I cannot read from where I am sitting; that is, if I think you are somewhat attractive. If you are not attractive, I will still be curious, just not interested in getting to know for a relationship. Just the other day, I was sitting in a waiting room and an older man sat next to me, carrying a library book. I had my Italian language book to help me pass the time but couldn’t help but ask what he was reading. That simple question started a conversation that meandered into the two of us exchanging information about travel – our completed travels and travel dreams. We were not looking at the other as potential life partners (he was easily 20 years my senior), however, for a few moments we both shared the light in our eyes over the details of completed trips and dreams of future, unplanned travel. We have books to thank for the pleasant passing of time in an otherwise boring setting.