There’s More to Life Than Books, You Know, But Not Much More. To Love Tomes More Than Humans.

 

 

There’s more to life than books, you know, but not much more. To love tomes more than humans

 

My earliest childhood memory is me, in a very clean, shiny, dated kitchen, sitting on the counter top reading words to my mother for the first time. Her old-school thick, glasses so large they almost rest on her cheeks; I remember they glared the ceiling light onto the plastic coating on my book.. I think I cried because I made my mother very happy. It didn’t seem like a big deal to me at the time. 

I read Dick and Jane like a pro to her and that’s where it all began. I read like a binge eater the night after Thanksgiving, my eyes furious, scouring for anything my brain could digest. 

There weren’t a lot of books in my house when I started to read. When I did get a large haul from the school library once, I would read to my parents at night time while I was tucked away in my bed. In the morning, I’d wake up and read. 

In the school library I would read Ranger Rick. I also got introduced to Nancy Drew at a young age. My problem was I’d read too fast and would be stuck with nothing to read. I eventually realized we had TV Guides and Reader’s Digest scattered around the house, in the bathroom and on the coffee table.  I was reading things I didn’t understand at all, but I could tell you when M*A*S*H was on. I enjoyed when we visited other people’s homes. I would check out their bathroom reading materials and stow away in the bathroom for as long as I could. 

We moved to the Midwest when I was ten. If I wasn’t a complete book geek already, the move pushed me over the edge, causing me to love books and detest people. 

The Midwest is a deeply personal time that I feel uncomfortable thinking and talking about. Writing about it seems natural since I read so much when I lived there. We moved to a farm in the middle of no where. We lived in a town that had a population lower than a New Jersey high school. We lived on a dirt road with barns on our property and silos. I learned what a combine was and the previous owner’s animals stayed with the house when we bought it. Dogs were kept outside. I couldn’t see my neighbor’s homes when the fields were filled with crops. We burned our garbage, as the local common practice was to do so. 

I would buy books and magazines any chance I got. I was reading Redbook. My mother would drive me into town and leave me at the library for hours. I developed very odd reading habits.  I think, during my six years in the Midwest, I started to realize that I’d rather read a conversation in a book than hear any noise coming out of someone’s food hole.  I would ignore people who bothered me while I was reading – I still do that on occasion. 

Although I didn’t talk much in school, I was a popular note-writer nonetheless. Other kids would seek me out when they wanted to woo someone with a love letter. 

I never don’t have time to read. I make time for reading. In college I bought books from Borders, read them very fast and returned them, claiming it was a gift gone wrong. 

I don’t break the spines when I read a book. I hold the tomes in the highest regard. Friends borrowing a book from me while get a speech about the treatment of my book along with a bookmark. Do not bend pages back!  Magazines that are mine are not to be read before I read them.  Every crisp page must be turned first by me. I start with the editorial and then flip through the magazine from back to front. I read a book I hate faster than one I like. I savor those rare few precious moments with a book that is amazing. Books that I dislike are just as important I have to have the knowledge of it. I disrespect the book when I’m finished reading it by leaving it on the TV briefly. A book I love I have been known to give a gentle hug to.  I will try to finish a book in a nice venue like a nice warm bath or reclined on the couch.  I will read an entire magazine cover to cover, every letter to the editor and every photo credit. Though I wouldn’t consider myself a collector I do have a few prized books, first editions from favorite authors and other little oddities. I’ve become very interested in zines and can’t seem to get enough of them. Zines are raw.

 

When asked my hobbies, I will admit its reading. A geeky answer like that often gleans a response like, “Why? I never read.” 

I read because I prefer it to life. I know about obligations to society and therefore will go through a day like anyone else; however, I would rather be reading. I’d exchange most casual conversation for reading.   I’d rather read a person than talk to them.   

People will ask what do you read or who is your favorite author? What are you reading now? There’s no way to really answer. I have books in every room. Both of my bathrooms have more than one book that I can grab at any time. I have books in my bag when I go to work. If I get to my job early, I’ll sit in my car for 5 minutes and read. I keep most of the books I read, but there’s a fabulous website called Bookmooch that I use to recycle my personal library. Librarians near where I live know me and know my strange proclivities with reading.

I don’t prefer pleasant books, but I will take a book I hate as much as one I love. I do reread books if desperate. 

I love to read.  I even prefer to read closed captions than to watch TV, and the internet has made my reading obsession grow.  When I think about my obsession I recollect watching an episode of The Odd Couple where Oscar and Felix are in a monastery. Felix can’t sleep unless he reads so he’s in a small single bed cowering reading the back of a toothpaste box. Though reading never puts me to sleep it is that much of a habit for me. I read the back of everything. 

If you ever find me reading, please, just leave me alone. 

- Jessica L. Smith

 

 

Photo courtesy of Courtney 

 

 

Question for the reader: What’s your obsession?

 

Links: 

Bookmooch.com

Library.Phila.gov