BY JOELLEN COLLINS
Discussing literature in book groups has been a favorite activity of mine for many years. Getting together with other readers has not only been good for my intelligence but also for inspiring me to engage my mind in some pleasures of reading that I had not expected.
The New Yorker had a funny but ominous cartoon of a corner of a library with people looking at one wall of texts. Looking at the other wall was The Grim Reaper, with his scythe and fearsome hooded robe. Noticing him, the library patron said, “I was afraid that print media was dying”. I laughed at this and then thought about our choices of books for my current book club here.
Although giggling about that image, I later asked reading friends what they thought about our group’s occasional rejection of anything really long – anything over 300 or 400 pages. Of course, we meet once a month, so books can’t be so long that if something happens, people come without finishing them, but I recalled a time when the length didn’t matter. In my case, the longer the book was, with a more complicated plot, complex, interesting characters, and the most dramatic and specifically realized settings, the more I wanted to read it.
I asked some friends what they thought about this, and the general consensus was that in reading books we encounter the same challenges that society has. Perhaps the majority of current readers have experienced shorter and quicker thrills and immediate answers to problems. Now we don’t go to a library and shuffle through a card catalog and then look at the book and take notes, but instead we can ask Siri or Google or go to Wikipedia, perhaps preferred ways to find an answer. Some of us might be judgmental about the idea of instant gratification. A few weeks ago, I bought myself a bulky world atlas. Big ones are expensive, and some of my pals reminded me of the old saw “You know Africa’s going to have a new country next week,” and “Why are you bothering: you can look it up on the Internet.” I bought it anyway, and now it is by my bed for quick access to information about places I have been or wished to visit.
When I was bed-ridden for my whole third grade, I was fortunate that my parents brought me wonderful books, beautifully illustrated, with fascinating characters, and I developed a thirst for my stimulated imagination from the magic of reading. I liked the physical presence of a book, of turning the pages and smelling a subtle print odor, of picking it up, putting it aside without having to turn things on and off, and of being able to write comments in the margins of my own books.
I’m taking a fresh book with me on my trip this weekend, where there won’t be a dull moment. But I’ll have my trusty paperback with me, with the bonus of it being a great way to get ready to sleep at night. For sure, I’ll sleep well.
