How To Spot A Book Lover

Book Lovers are dangerous people. Avid readers are like rabid creatures—we can't see straight (usually because we have a book in front of our faces), we can't walk straight (same reason), and we often drool or foam at the mouth (when a Really Good Part overpowers our swallow reflex). Luckily, keeping away from the book-toting-crazy-eyes should be easy... as long as you know what to look for.

It’s not difficult to spot a book lover, we avid readers give ourselves away in so many ways:

You can find us at parties perusing the bookshelves instead of hanging with the crowd.

Our go-to conversation starter is “So, what are you reading?” 

We bring books with us to the bank and supermarket (anywhere we might have to wait in line).

We don't think of trees as beautiful things to photograph, draw, or even climb... they're merely another place to sit and read for a spell. 

We don't just walk, we biblioambulate.

We NEVER have enough bookshelves.

We wear T-shirts that say things like “Call me Ishmael”.

Keep in mind that Book Lovers are VERY DANGEROUS CREATURES. Be warned! Should you spot a Book Lover, generally the safest thing to do is to put as much distance between them and yourself as possible.

BUT...

For today, and for today only, because it is National Book Lovers Day, should you come across a Book Lover, you should go up to them, ask them what they're reading, ask if they can recommend any books for you to read, and watch their faces light up with joy. You will have made their day.

Happy Book Lovers Day!!

A Fundamental Shift in How I Look at Literature

In the most recent issue of The Believer magazine there is an article by Colin Asher about writer Nelson Algren which states that “... every word Algren wrote was guided by the belief that writing can be literature only if intended as a challenge to authority.” I didn’t know much about Nelson Algren before this, but the article was very good, and it got me thinking about this idea that literature must challenge authority. My first reaction is to disagree. I believe that literature is complex and varied, and that putting parameters or limitations on our definition of it does the idea of literature—and ourselves as readers—a disservice. But. . .

. . . But then I started thinking about all the books and writing that I consider “literature” and I found that most of them DO challenge authority in one way or another, even those works that I consider the most tame. Pride and Prejudice challenges the social and economic conventions of the time. Lolita challenges the idea that a pedophile is a monster who can neither elicit nor deserve sympathy from the moral majority. The Hobbit challenges the assumption that the smallest and quietest among us can’t change the course of history. These are just a few examples, but the more I thought about it the more I began to convince myself that great literature does indeed pose a challenge, if not always to authority, then at least to the status quo.

I’m still not sure that I would agree with Algren’s purported belief that writing can only be literature if intended as a challenge to authority. What about non-fiction, beautifully written biographies, pieces of literature in which all the author wanted to do was write the truth? I don’t believe that writing has to be an act of revolution, or civil disobedience, in order to be literature. However, I’m not as sure, nor as quick to shoot down the assertion as I was. To be honest, I’m having more trouble than I thought coming up with examples of good literature that don’t support Algren’s belief.

I now can’t help but ask myself a question that could lead to a fundamental shift in the way I define literature: Can great literature be truly great literature if it doesn’t challenge our ideas about the world in which we live?

Five Resolutions, Kept and Failed, and One Great Poem

5 Resolutions Kept in 2013 (So Far)

1. Write every morning. Even if it’s only for an hour. Just sitting down and getting started leads to so much more productivity.
2. Schedule daily guilt-free reading time. Every afternoon I give myself at least an hour to not be a housekeeper, cook, wife, mother or business-owner; I let go of my responsibilities and find new aspects of myself in a book.
3. Eat better—If by “better” you mean richer and tastier. I’m currently reading Julia Child’s My Life in France, there’s no way you can read that book and be on a diet at the same time.
4. Drink less. Cocktail pounds are so frustrating. Happily, this has been an easy one so far.
5. Find one Great Poem per week. Well, it’s only been one week, so… check. You’ll find this week’s Great Poem below.

5 Failed Resolutions in 2013

The Passion is Back! Looking Back on December and Forward to 2013

Can the last month of 2012 be an indication of what's to come in 2013? I hope so, because when it comes to books, December 2012 was my most satisfying--and hopeful--month in a long time. This wasn't because I read the best books of the year during this month, but because this was the month when I found my passion for reading again. After too many months of reading ennui and halfhearted dips into chapters and verse, December found me falling once again down that literary rabbit hole; getting caught up (delightfully) once more in words and story. And I'm not ashamed to admit that it all started with Romance...

December Books Read

The Fine Art of Truth or Dare by Melissa Jensen
Unmaking Hunter Kennedy by Anne Eliot
Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury
The Mysterious Benedict Society by Trenton Lee Stewart
The Malory Family Series by Johanna Lindsey
High Fidelity by Nick Hornby
The Time Machine by H.G. Wells 
Where'd You Go, Bernadette by Maria Semple

The Busy Parent’s Guide to Finding More Time to Read

The end of the year is very hard for me as a reader: My calendar suddenly gets full, I’m trying to finish up projects I’ve had going for too many months, there’s shopping to do, etc. As if all this wasn’t bad enough, this is the time of year when everyone publishes their “Best Books of the Year” lists. The Millions’ Year in Reading 2011 has been particularly devastating to my TBR list this year, not to mention to my self-confidence as a reader. How did I miss all these great books? What have I been doing with all that time I could have spent reading?

I know I’m not the only one feeling this way, and it’s time to take some action. Let’s take back the book! Who’s with me?! 

I have to warn you that it won’t be easy. I know this sounds antithetical, but making time to read requires some sacrifice. You’re going to have to be disciplined. You’re going to have to enlist the help of your family. But most of all, you’re going to have to give yourself permission.  Here we go...

Looking Back on November: A Month of Reading

Books I’ve Read this Month

Cold Mountain by Charles Frazier
Ragnarok by A.S. Byatt

The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins

The Believer Issue#84

The month of November is not the happiest of months to begin with; let’s get that right out there in the open. We’re coming off the candy, costume, come-as-you-aren’t high of Halloween and looking at the busy and expensive winter holidays ahead. The sky is getting darker; the weather is getting gloomy and cold. April is the cruelest month? Move over T.S. Eliot, here comes November!

Looking back over my list of books I realize that although I was picking books without any particular agenda, most of those I read during this past month fit right in with the dark and desolate mood. Frazier’s Cold Mountain is dark and heavy and fraught with danger. Byatt’s Ragnarok makes no apology for the dark demise of the entire Norse world at the end. Collins’ The Hunger Games takes place in a (you guessed it) dark dystopian future. As for the 84^th issue of The Believer, well the editors of The Believer always have a somewhat dark sense of humor, but I suspect that’s what I love about them.

And So, Two Years Passed...

In books it is all too easy to gloss over a passage of time that has no relevance to the story; a line or two at the beginning of a chapter will suffice to inform the reader that a certain number of years has passed:

"This is not to be a regular autobiography: I am only bound to invoke memory where I know her responses will possess some degree of interest; therefore I now pass a space of eight years almost in silence..." -Jane Eyre

"The days of my youth, as I look back on them, seem to fly away from me in a flurry of pale repetitive scraps like those morning snow storms of used tissue paper that a train passenger sees whirling in the wake of the observation car." -Lolita


"Nearly ten years had passed since the Dursleys had woken up to find their nephew on the front step..." -Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone

The authors of these books were wise enough to know when it was best to let certain years remain silent, trusting that any important details would reveal themselves during the course of the continuing story; I shall endeavor to have a bit of that same wisdom here.

And so, two years (give or take) passed, in which life (my life) continued in much the same fashion that it always had... But a clever reader knows that life is never exactly the same from one day or week to the next, and so there are some changes. I have books on my shelves now that weren't there two years ago, many of which I hope to share with you in the coming months. I have a new writing desk which looks out onto the backyard and the open, rolling hills beyond the fence--which has the effect of both inspiring and distracting me depending on the day. And I have a new blog url! one that I think is both easier to remember and better reflects the content of the blog and the personality of the blogger: www.bkwurm.com. I look forward to improving and personalizing it with bookish tidbits for myself and my readers.

In the past two years I have become a terrible Literary Magazine addict, keeping up five paper subscriptions (The Paris Review, McSweeney's Quarterly Review, The Believer Magazine, Poetry Magazine, Brain Child) and four online (NY Times Review of Books, Wag's Revue, McSweeney's Internet Tendency and Five Books.) In a world of ballet lessons, parent club meetings, legal writing and bill paying, it is these subscriptions (as well as all my bibliophile friends and acquaintances--both online and on the street) which keep me creatively challenged, sane, and connected to the world that I think of as my world. My readers can expect to read more about these inspiring publications--as well as book reviews, author news, and overbearing opinions on the reading and writing life in general--in future posts.

If you are reading this blog then I know that this world of books and words and ideas is your world too, and I look forward to exploring and sharing it together once more.

Betrayed By My Kindle: A Story of Love and Loss

I have a Kindle and I love it. My Kindle doesn't raise eyebrows when I'm impatient and want a new book right now. My Kindle doesn't make me feel guilty for taking up valuable shelf space with fluffy non-classics, or spending money to satisfy my vampire obsessed inner teenager. My Kindle is understanding of my obsessive-compulsive need to read the last chapter first, and it encourages me to mark pages and make notes in my books. Now don't misunderstand me, my Kindle doesn't keep me from buying actual paper and ink books, or forcing my poor family to wander through labyrinthine shelves and stacks to get from one room to another--but it has made a bit of a dent in my need for shelf space and it has made me very happy.

Last week, however, my Kindle betrayed me.

In Praise of the Perfect Reading Partner

As summer ends and I begin to come out of my hermit cave, I'm finally in a mood to talk about all the books I've been voraciously devouring over the past few months. This desire, and the ensuing discussions (or sometimes lack thereof), has led me to a greater appreciation of my reading buddies and the extent to which they enrich my reading experience.

Susan Wise-Bauer mentions in her book The Well Educated Mind that reading is about dialogue and persuasion; the book persuading the reader, and the reader engaging in an internal dialogue with the ideas in the book. When a reader engages in active reading the dialogue is more than just internal--the reader communicates his thoughts outwardly. The outward communication can take the form of journaling, but the best communication happens when you have a third party: a reading partner.

A reading partner is someone who provides motivation and accountability when you're reading a challenging book, but they are much more than that. A good reading partner will enrich your reading experience. Wise-Bauer writes that "a reading partner forces you to use words precisely to define your terms." But most importantly, "when you are looking back through the book for answers to questions about the writer's ideas, your reading partner can talk to you about those ideas."

The thing about reading is that most of the time it is a solitary experience. Now don't get me wrong, that solitary nature is a huge part of its charm. I think many die-hard readers are encouraged in their passion because they can read alone. Some of us actually enjoy being alone. That said, humans are at their core social animals, there's no escaping it. And sometimes we want to share this amazing passion with others.

But as any avid reader will tell you, more often than not, sharing that passion with others can lead to disappointment. Having your reading partner not like a book you absolutely loved is not at all the worst response one can get. The worst response one can get to sharing a reading experience with another is for that other person to give a lukewarm "Oh yeah, that book was okay."

Excuse me? That's the best response you can come up with? I'm a passionate reader and I want a passionate response! I want a nice "Oh yeah, I loved that book!" Even a "What?? That book was terrible!" would be preferable to a mere lukewarm acknowledgment. And even if you did only think it was "okay" (because let's be honest, some books do only inspire a lukewarm response) it would be nice to have a little more thought in your answer; "Oh, I only thought that book was okay because..." or "that book just didn't draw me in, what I really wanted was for the author to..."

I guess that's what I look for in a reading partner, and what I appreciate so much about the reading buddies I do have: passion and depth, a concrete opinion. So this post is for my reading buddies out there--thank you for everything you bring to my reading experience, and to my life. You are what make the reading life extraordinary.

Warning! Reading Can Ruin Your Life!

For most people summer seems to be a time for activities, road trips, and the great outdoors. Not for me. For me summer has always been a time to unplug the phones, lock the doors, and hide away in the darkest corner I could find with a flashlight and as many books as I could carry.

When I was in school summer was my cherished time. All that time wasted during the school year on assigned books and math worksheets (not that I actually did many of those assignments, come to think of it) gave way during the summer months to uninterrupted, unadulterated reading. My parents and friends knew better than to bother me. I would take cartloads of books to the downstairs guest room in my parents house and set up camp, coming up only for meals, and that only occasionally.

Now that I am older, this hermitous instinct that takes over my brain from late May to early September gets me into trouble. I lose friends who think that my lack of communication means I have become a snob and don't have time for them anymore. My children wear their pajamas all day long and eat cereal bars and macaroni and cheese for every meal. (My children obviously love this aberrant habit of mine and doubtless wish it would manifest itself throughout the entire year.) My work--well, my work gets done, but reluctantly; while I, like the dog in the old adage, curse this distraction that ironically allows me to buy the very books which tempt me away from it. And my blog.... well, obviously, my blog languishes. This blog post is my apology to my readers, and my plea for understanding and forgiveness.

I have, however, been able to burn through a number of books so far this summer, some bad, some good, some excellent; and I can't wait to tell you all about them. Here is a preliminary list of some of the books I've read in the past few weeks, including the ones I have on my plate right now:

Burnt Shadows by Kamila Shamsie

The Chosen by Chaim Potok

The Help by Kathryn Stockett

The Southern Vampire Series (first 3 books) by Charlaine Harris

The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexander Dumas

Turbulent Souls by Stephen J. Dubner

Choosing a Jewish Life by Anita Diamante

Hamlet by Shakespeare

The Tales of Mutt-Bly Akarkin by Michael Chester

No Ordinary Time by Doris Kearns Goodwin

Readings by Michael Dirda

So now I have to ask... How do you like to read? Do you have a favorite time of year to hole up and surround yourself with words? And, as always, my favorite question of all... what are YOU reading this summer?

Can Books Bring Us Home Again?

I recently watched the 1994 movie version of Little Women with my daughters, and it made me remember how much that book touched me when I read it as a child. I loved the March sisters and all of their adventures. I envied them their close bonds, and (although I didn't recognize the feeling at the time) admired how they rose to meet every challenge. There is a sister for every personality, of course, and I identified most with impatient Jo, the aspiring writer, but the other sisters were just as dear to me; I marveled at the patient Meg, loved sweet Beth, and laughed at silly little Amy. And who can get through this particular book without crying like a baby? I got misty when Mr. March came home on Christmas morning, cried tears of disappointment when Jo refused Laurie's proposal, and shed buckets of tears when Beth quietly slipped into the afterlife.

I first read Little Women when I was around 10 or 11. I was the perfect age to fall in love with the sisters, and internalize their values and life lessons. At that time I had no idea what this Pilgrim's Progress book to which they referred so often was, and I really didn't care. I could love and understand their story perfectly well having no knowledge of that story. And their story was one of humorous scrapes and sisterly love, social challenges and eventually--romance. But when I picked up Little Women in my twenties, with a new baby girl, the reading experience was very different. Perhaps it was because I was remembering it as a 10 year old remembers it, but when I read it again as an adult I found it to be very restrictive. I know that Marmee and Mr. March are supposed to be very modern and progressive, but it rankled that the girls had to be constantly modest and uncomplaining. As a mother of a new daughter it seemed to me that the girls were so good that their example would be impossible for any normal human to live up to. And as someone who had just had, um, "discussions", shall we say, with my mother about the decision not to baptize the afore-mentioned baby.... all of the religious references really turned me off. Sadly, I put the book down thinking I would never be able to read it to my own little girl.

I read many of my childhood favorites in the years just after my daughters were born: The Chronicles of Narnia, Anne of Green Gables, The Hobbit, the works of John Bellairs, fairy tales by The Brothers Grimm and Hans Christian Anderson, and others. Oddly enough, none of my old favorites had quite the same luster they did when I was a kid. Oh I still enjoyed them--some of them very, very much--but it wasn't the same. The adventures weren't nearly as exciting, the imaginary worlds weren't quite as engrossing, and the fairy tales were shockingly violent. What had happened to all of these classic stories during my teen years?! I am sorry to say that I gave up on many of these childhood favorites for a number of years.

Then I turned 30... 31... my oldest daughter turned seven, and although she could read she didn't want to. It was a bibliophilic parent's nightmare. How could I persuade her that books were not work, but a delight and a refuge? I started reading aloud to her more than ever. She was in love with dragons at the time, so I pulled out my old, tattered copy of The Hobbit as our bedtime reading. Knowing that my seven year old couldn't care less about the history of otherworldly elvish poetry I skipped over those parts, sticking to the magic, the good vs. evil, the amazing creatures and breathtaking adventure. I was reading it to her the same way I had read it as a child--picking out the "good parts". She loved it! I loved it too! We moved on from there to read Pollyanna, then The Chronicles of Narnia. But in the late evenings, after she had gone to bed, I would go back to the books we had just put down and would open them again, re-reading the parts I had skipped for lack of excitement. It was amazing. Re-reading these books in my 30s was a completely different experience from reading them in my twenties. I researched the historical setting; I appreciated the quality of the writing and the pacing of the story. I picked out themes and references I hadn't caught before. It wasn't the same as reading these books as a child.... it was--not better, because I don't think anything compares to that "first time" with a book--but it was richer. Reading these books made me feel connected to history, the author, and the millions of appreciative readers who came before me.

Reading a book for the first time is a solitary activity; we immerse ourselves in it and if we are lucky we live that story exclusively for the duration of our reading. But reading a book for the second, third or fourth time is a social activity; we open our minds to the author's intention, to the culture at the time it was written, to earlier influences, and to others who have read and reviewed or written commentary on the book before us. A first reading takes us out of our own world, but re-reading connects us to our own world in ways we never could have imagined.

Now my daughter is 9 and has made her mother very happy by becoming an avid reader herself. She tears through thick books like there's no tomorrow. But I still read aloud to her at bedtime (and whenever she asks, really), and although she chooses her own books to read to herself, I get to choose the books we read together at night. I have a long way to go before we exhaust the list of my childhood favorites. And you know what... I'm thinking of reading Little Women to her next.

A Day in the Life

The true tale of Sunday, April 26, 2009.

8 am: Awakened by 4-year-old wondering if we can make "Pinkalicious Cupcakes" based on the delightful book by Victoria and Elizabeth Kann. I reply that we can. Can we make them now? Tempting as pink cupcakes sound for breakfast I reply in the negative. 4-year-old's face falls heartbreakingly. Implies that a reading of the book might make up for lack of breakfast cupcakes. I comply.

8:20 am: 4-year-old runs off to change into something blindingly pink. I lie in bed willing coffee to miraculously make itself. Unsuccessful.

8:30 am: While making coffee and breakfast I realize that a rare alignment of the stars has occurred, and that we have absolutely no plans, appointments, or necessary errands to run. The entire day is free! This is an unexpected boon, as I just yesterday found out that my favorite used book store is going out of business, and now have an urgent need to visit and ensure that no overlooked treasures will be lost in the tragic dismantling. But first... Although it is not Mother's Day, I inform my offspring that mommy is taking her toast and coffee into bed, and should be interrupted only in an emergency.

9-11 am: Oh the decadence! Sunday morning in bed with books!

Arrange necessary reading-in-bed items on the counterpane: coffee, journal, laptop, iPod, and books in various stages of completion (Michael Dirda's Readings, one of the essays from which came the idea for this post; Ayn Rand's Atlas Shrugged, which I am reading reluctantly, not being a fan of what I perceive is Rand's heavy-handed writing style; Jane Austen's Mansfield Park which I recently finished (and loved! how can one not love Austen?) but must now review notes and plan for my Rediscovering the Classics class; and Ann Patchett's Bel Canto which I hope to review for the blog, and which has hijacked my imagination with its surprising beauty and even now won't let me go).

In the midst of my printed words I somehow find the LibriVox website, and from there discover their weekly short story podcast archives. Joy! LibriVox also offers a books podcast, poetry podcast, community podcast, and new releases podcast. I download dozens of short stories with the idea that surely the children will fall in love with the stories of Poe, Twain, and Hans Christian Anderson, and from there become young literature enthusiasts and co-conspirators.

11 am: Finally drag myself away from books and podcasts when I realize that while I have had visions of bookworms dancing in my head, my sweet cherubs have actually been improving their minds with Barbie movies for the past two hours. Pack lunches, children and bikes into the van for bike-ride/beach trip (should get Nobel Prize in Physics for accomplishing this Herculean task), but first...

12-1 pm: Quick stop at The Book Bag, the aforementioned favorite used book store, to "just look". Although I have absolutely no intention of buying anything (that stop at the ATM for $60 cash was not in the least premeditated), a pristine hardbound copy of Dickens' Bleak House (with the original illustrations) literally jumps off the shelf and into my hands. With the "All hardcover books $2, limited time only" sale, how can I refuse?? Also find lovely hardcover copy of Updike's S. and A Month of Sundays, which I have been longing to read. If only they also had a copy of Roger's Version that particular series would be complete, but alas, Roger's Version is not to be found today. Paperback acquisitions include Small Ceremonies and Happenstance, both by Carol Shields (author of The Stone Diaries); a previously undiscovered Dancing Girls and Other Short Stories by Margaret Atwood; and Thornton Wilder's Our Town to replace the copy I lent out and never got back.

Saved at this time from further spending by my darling daughters, who politely suggest that perhaps they've spent enough time in the quiet little bookshop, and request to finally be taken on the promised bike ride.

1 pm: Books purchased and safely stowed, we begin the drive to the beach. The downloaded short stories from LibriVox are delightful, engaging and educational, and instill an immediate passion for literature in my awestruck children... or so I assume would have happened had we actually listened to the stories. Instead, at children's request, we listened to Taylor Swift sing about high school parties, longed-for weddings, and broken hearts.

1:30-4:30 pm: Glorious bike ride along beach path. Air is crisp but not cold, sun is shining, passers-by are friendly. We take a short break at a beach side playground where the kids can climb. I only regret that I neglected to put a book in my bike basket before setting out, but console myself by taking pictures of happy girls and lying in the warm sand. I don't even think reading in bed could be better than this. Probably.

4:30 pm: After packing up the bikes and driving home we stop at the grocery store to pick up chicken for dinner and ingredients for the promised cupcakes. Shopping is brief--checkout lines are ridiculously long!! Note to self: Stay away from grocery stores on Sunday afternoons.

5:15 pm: With help of kids, make "Pinkalicious cupcakes", using white cupcake batter and frosting, and an overabundance of pink food coloring. 4-year-old hopes to wake up completely pink inside and out tomorrow morning. While cupcakes are baking I set the table, heat chicken and green-beans, and even have a few minutes left over to read another of Michael Dirda's essays!

6:30 pm: After dinner, and while the cupcakes cool mouthwateringly on the counter, I help the girls disassemble the forts made out of dining room chairs and blankets that have stood in the living room all weekend. This is an excellent opportunity for me to rediscover (and re-shelve) the heavier books in my library, and which are apparently excellent fort-building material. I'm gratified to know the books are appreciated by others in the family. Sample titles: Oxford American Dictionary, World Atlas, Norton Anthology of American Literature, Complete Works of Shakespeare, Harry Potter numbers 5 and 7, a biography of Walt Disney, and a collection of stories about horses. My children have eclectic (but admirable) taste in building materials.

7 pm: Finally time to decorate the sweets. While the girls properly pink-ify the cupcakes, the kitchen and themselves, I sneak a few minutes to sniff my new-used copy of Bleak House and drool over the original drawings. After cupcakes are finished we take photos and sample the finished product. We expect to all have rare and acute cases of pinkitis in the morning.

7:45 pm: Bedtime routine. After teeth are brushed and faces washed I read each daughter their own story. I begin C.S. Lewis's A Horse and His Boy (one of my favorite childhood reads) for my 4-year-old in the hopes that the brilliant tale of danger, adventure, mistaken identity and talking horses will get her interested in the rest of the series. My 4-year-old is sadly uninterested in this heretofore unsuspected resistible tale and asks for Fancy Nancy and the Posh Puppy instead. HOWEVER.... 9-year-old is completely drawn in by The Horse and His Boy and asks for more. Success!!

10 pm: Kids are in bed. After being waylaid by phone calls from various family members I snuggle into bed with a glass of red wine to read Atlas Shrugged. Half an hour later the book lies face-down on my chest, my glasses have slid down my nose, and I am dreaming of fifth symphonies and train-rides across America...

A Treatise In Defense of Reading the Last Chapter First

I'm someone who likes to know how things end. I go crazy during movies guessing how it will all turn out, I scour the internet for spoilers about my favorite TV shows, and yes, I read the last chapter of the book when I'm only about a quarter of the way in.

I know a number of people who are bothered that I have this habit*. Not just bothered, but utterly appalled. These people are not authors, they don't even read as avidly as I do, and yet this little thing seems to personally offend some of them. Why? What business is it of theirs if I read the last chapter first? It's not like I run around telling others and spoiling the end.

I don't like having to defend my reading habits, but I do wonder why it matters so much to some people how I read a book? And to turn the looking glass the other way, why is it that I am so driven to read that last chapter? Why am I so desperate to know?

For me, knowing the end actually improves the reading experience. If I don't know the end I am driven crazy with desire, and I skim through the book quickly just to find out what happens. I miss too much. Knowing the end of an engrossing book allows me to slow down my reading and really enjoy the prose, to appreciate the work and art that the author put into it. Mystery author Alafair Burke (although not an end reader herself) admitted in her interview on Talk of The Nation that most authors would actually prefer that a reader slow down to enjoy the art; setting, description, characters and prose.

Moreover, Burke says, once a book is in the hands of the readers the reading experience belongs to them, and if that bothers an author then the author needs to "get over it." I agree completely. If I'm impatient, that is my own failing. I work hard to temper that impatience in most areas of my life--with my children, in my buying habits, while driving--and I like to think that I'm fairly successful. But reading is mine. Reading takes place in my head and my heart and you aren't allowed in there. When an author is in the midst of writing a manuscript the work is theirs, utterly and completely. But once that book is on the bookshelves that work is mine... I will read it, write in the margins, approve or disapprove of the characters, and yes--read the last chapter first.

It's a compliment, really. if your book is boring I won't bother to read the last chapter, I simply won't care enough to do so.

But I have discovered a new obstacle to reading the last chapter first, and that is my own beloved Kindle! I downloaded this weekend the latest book by Stephenie Meyer for some indulgent reading; and sure enough, 1/4 of the way through the book I felt a desperate need to flip to the end and find out how it goes with our main characters. But with the Kindle you can't flip to the end! You can (by choosing the menu button) go to the "Cover", go to the "Table of Contents", or "Go to Beginning", but you cannot "Go to End". And so, my fellow readers, I was forced to read the book all the way through from beginning to end as god and authors intended.

It. Was. Torture.

But wait! It has just occurred to me... The Kindle also allows you to "Go to Location", and always tells you at the bottom of that little screen what the final location is... Gods be praised! I have found the Kindle loophole! My degenerate reading habits can continue.

*If you are one of those people who are bothered by this habit, I really would love to know why. Please comment and let me know what it is that bothers you so much.

Kindle 2, A Love Story

I have a new Amazon Kindle 2, and I love it. I have to make this as kind of an announcement because not more than 4 months ago I was swearing up and down that I would never want one of "these imposter electronic reading devices!" You see, I love books. Not just reading, I love books. I love their weight and heft, I love the paper between my fingers, I love the smell of them, and I absolutely love having them lining the walls of my house, surrounding me like old friends.

But I must admit, I love the Kindle. Before I got my own, I read about it in the NYTimes, and read what friends had to say about it on Twitter. When my curiosity finally got the better of me and I looked it up on Amazon, I was impressed. (Actually, to be perfectly honest, I was salivating!) What an amazing little gadget it is! A tablet about the size of a smallish hardcover book (closed) but thinner than a pencil, and oh so light. And on this tiny device you can carry 1500 books with you! Here are few other features that make me love the Kindle:

• Ability to bookmark pages and dog-ear corners (I ALWAYS do this in my books!)
• Ability to highlight passages and take notes on the text (I always do this too! Love marginalia.)
• Read-aloud function for just about every book you download can be turned on and off at will (although the computerized voice will not put audio book-makers out of business any time soon.)
• Change the size of the text from small to ultra large and many sizes in between.
• Instantly purchase and download books. This has already proven hazardous to my wallet. However, you may download samples of any book for free, so it hasn't been as hazardous as it could be.
• E-mail word, .pdf, picture files, etc. to your Kindle and take them with you wherever you go. (VERY handy for teachers, producers, anybody, really.)
• Basic web browsing.
• Built in dictionary (Oxford American).
• Subscribe to newspapers and magazines from the Kindle, new editions are delivered instantly. Subscriptions are cheaper too!
• Saves all your highlights, bookmarks, notes, clippings, etc. in a separate file which you can then transfer to your computer to edit or e-mail to friends.
• And (I love this) in sleep mode the Kindle displays various different authors or other literary items of interest.

I'm sure there's more, but I don't want to take up too much of your time. All I can say is that I am a convert. I love my Kindle, I truly love it.
There are drawbacks, of course. The price ($359!!) can be quite a hurdle, but as I said above, the cost of downloading a book to your Kindle is quite a bit cheaper than buying it physically. Another drawback is that not all books are yet available in Kindle format. I found that both Possession and Rabbit, Run were unavailable on my Kindle, sadly. However, I did download Pride and Prejudice for 99 cents! So it's hit and miss, but more hit than miss, I think.
Now, this is not to say that a Kindle will replace my library. Perish the thought! I still love my books. I will never stop wanting or buying physical books. I will always cherish my library and want to grow and nurture it. But the Kindle is a brilliant piece of technology and a wonderful halfway step. It's a perfect way to carry with you at all times all the multiple books one likes to read at once. It's also a nice way to try out books to see if they are a must-have for your physical library, or to read the "fluff" that you know you want want to share or keep on your shelf.
I love it. If you are a book-lover, this is a must-have.

You Want Me To What??

I am astounded to learn that there are people out there looking to diminish the size of their libraries. If you are one of these people, there is a chilling WikiHow webpage that gives you nine steps to an emaciated library, including suggestions such as giving yourself a "read-to-purchase" ratio or only allowing yourself to buy a new book after you've given one of your old books away. As a friend of mine so eloquently put it: "Blasphemy!"

All "bulimic library" jokes aside, I do recognize that there are people who do not have the space--or in some cases do not have the desire--for a large library. Not every girl grows up dreaming (as I did) not of finding Prince Charming but rather of finding his library (a la Disney's "Beauty and the Beast", pictured above), and this is fine. An extensive library is not for everybody, this is why we have public libraries, and why I support them to the greatest extent possible.

However....

If you do have a personal library it is my firm belief that nobody should make you feel guilty about any unread books it may contain. A library is not just a repository for books you've already read; quite the contrary. A personal library should be filled with old friends (books you've read and loved) and new friends waiting to be made, inspiring you to keep on reading.

My library is not a still and silent collection of books and shelves. And it isn't just for me--it's for my daughters and for my friends. My library is a living, breathing thing; it is a conversation; it is--like each book in it in its turn--a friend and lover, a teacher, a muse. It grows as I grow, and I would not want to hinder that for all the extra shelf space in the world.