My name is Caroline Weerstra, and I am a book addict. Yes, I admit it. I love books. It scarcely even matters which kind. I love fat ones and thin ones, old ones and new ones. I love fairy tales and horror novels. I love science tomes and historical records. My dream is to turn an entire wing of my house into a gigantic library. In reality, of course, my house is not large enough to have wings. Nor am I entirely certain what a house wing is. It is the sort of thing you read about in books. Especially old Victorian novels about creepy old mansions where inexplicable wails ring though corridors in the dead of night. There are always hidden wings to the house, with entrances concealed cleverly behind a bookshelf.
There would be nothing cleverly disguised by my bookshelf except more bookshelves. I am not interesting enough to have big adventures, nor cunning enough to keep such secrets. I would be demonstrating my Secret Corridor to all my friends within hours of its completion. "Look!" I would say. "Here is where I keep all my theology books. I sorted them by level of heresy!" One must have a system. (It is a side effect of having changed religious beliefs that one ends up with a lot of heretical books from the early years. I am never certain what to do with them.)
My daughter Kaylee is now reaching the age at which I can introduce her to my favorite books. It is like bringing her to meet dear friends. "My dear daughter, meet Elwin Ransom, who was kidnapped and taken to Mars by crazed scientists. This is Jim Hawkins, who fought pirates on Treasure Island. And I would like you to get to know Hamlet. He is a little crazy, but well worth knowing ..."
There is a wealth in literature, a feast of language and story and knowledge. It is one of God's greatest gifts. I honestly believe it literacy as necessary as food and shelter. Without books, the mind starves, just as the body starves without food.
So let's share ... Are you a book addict? What are YOUR favorite books?
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
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1 comments:
Caroline you always make my day more wonderful. I often find myself thanking God for the true solace of the fellowship of the literate dead :-) Currently I am working through Lewis' Discarded Image, but it's difficult, because every time I sit to read it, I have to scribble it out in my own words -- here is one of the scribbles, because it seems appropriate :-)
There is a world where people plant their footsteps opposite to mine --
Antipodes:
Forever stranded by a burning clime
From this, though so contiguous
As to be half my sphere --
A habitable band
That parallels this temperate part,
But lost --
For I can never go to it,
Nor can its people cross
The mutual sand
To visit here.
I thought Antipodes must be in books --
The ancient men you see before you vividly, who say
The words you scarcely understand, but know by heart:
Who cannot see your own looks answering,
Or watch you straining after an idea they comprehend:
Nor for your listening, for all your listening,
Can they again, listen --
But years have taught me differently.
That world, which is so far away as to be inaccessible,
Is yet more near than one that I inhabit --
As when I was a child, I would leave my play
With its confusing noises,
To go sit quietly
Where people talked of matters only half discernible,
In an unfathomable way.
It was a comfort, just to hear their voices.
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