I'm currently reading a book called The Gifts of Reading; inspired by Robert Mcfarlane and curated by Jennie Orchard. It is a series of short essays on the joys of reading, giving, and receiving books. I have been enjoying the differing perspectives immensely, what most have in common is a 'person'. This person gave them a particular book, this person (who happens to be a librarian in one story) guides the writer to the book or book(s) that inspired them, that started them on their journey of reading and writing and generally loving and advocating for the written word.
This has given me pause to reflect, do I have a person? Do I even have that one book that started it all?
I recall being around eightish and the girl across the road was babysitting for me (that girl later became my sister-in-law). I don't know how or why it came about but she ended up reading a section of Charlotte's Web to me. I never did finish the book and she didn't read to me again but the warm feeling one gets from being read aloud to has never left me. I dream occasionally of having a man read lovingly to me, Jude Law maybe...I like his voice. Alas, I am not married to Jude Law, nor is my husband one to read aloud to me. I wonder if it is this feeling of being read to that inspired such a drive to build a home library for my children and to read to them every night, even when none of us were in the mood!
Later in life, say around tenish, I do recall loving the Roald Dahl books and loaning my treasured copy of Matilda to a friend. She kept it for an inordinately long time and when the book was returned it was no longer readable. I was incensed and vowed never to loan another book again, I have since but only to fellow librarians or my Mum both of whom I trust implicitly with the books I give them.
A little later, or maybe about the same time I have memories of visiting the library. Never with my mum, who was either working or otherwise busy with single parenthood. No usually with my cousin or alone. These were the days of Nancy Drew, Point Crime, and Point Horror. The days of devouring book after book and being constantly jealous of my cousin who could always read faster than me and 'graduated' to adult books and a love of Stephen King way ahead of me, even though there are only nine months between us.
Next came the teenager break from reading. I recall still reading something but nowhere near as much and often my memories are of college or University texts rather than for pleasure. Though I did still manage to amass a stock of books collected from all over the place. John Grisham featured here for a time and soon true crime books made an entrance.
My passion for reading didn't become inflamed until I gave birth to my first child. This was about the time I discovered Harry Potter and the need to have the next book in the series. I also discovered the joys of Julia Donaldson and Alan Ahlberg and Oliver Jeffers whilst reading to the munchkin. I soon became a little obsessed. Junior fiction became a huge part of my life as much for my enjoyment as that of my children. I discovered places like the Seven Stories Centre in Newcastle, the Discover Centre in London, and Bewilderwood in Norfolk. It was a few years after my second munchkin came along that a friend showed me a job advert for a library assistant position at a nearby library. I applied and the rest they say is history. It was like putting a child with a sweetie problem in the literal sweet shop. My obsession was stocked and now my children are teenagers and no longer need my input into what they read, so I read for myself.
Looking back on my brief life in books I can't say that there was one book that outshone the rest, there have been many books that have arrived at the right time and under the right circumstances, that is a post for another day. Nor has there been that one literary person that is responsible for my passion. I doubt I would love books and reading as much as do if it hadn't been for libraries and their openness to take in everyone and let them discover things by themselves, both as a reader and professionally. I also doubt I would love libraries as much as I do if not for my cousin and those trips to the library and sharing Point Horror and Point Crime books. Ultimately I suppose though my passion for books and reading is inextricably linked to my children. Without feeling the need to pass on reading and books to them I doubt my own love would have grown so much.
As for gifting books to others, I don't have a top-five books that I gift, I just give books. Whenever I can I give books. I am that Auntie and I am probably hated for it, but I figure that the more books are under people's noses the more likely they are to read and get the associated benefits from reading. If I can't think of the right book, book tokens it is. It seems like a cop-out sometimes, but then I remember how much I love visiting bookshops (about as much as libraries) and realise that I am probably giving a better gift in some respects.
I still collect lots of books, and I still use the library a lot too (and Netgalley and the library e-book borrowing service and kindle and audible) basically any way of getting hold of books and I'm in! Which is why I have no room on my bookshelves and also why I will never read all the books I want to. In The Gifts of Reading William Boyd wrote:
"I say to myself as I look at the exponential growth of books in my house that if there is a circle of hell in a notional literary purgatory where the compulsive book buyer is obliged to dwell for a few millennia, then perhaps I will resign myself to my fate. As long as there is something to read."
Although this sounds more like a version of heaven.
