Why I like books

You asked me why I like to read, why I like books.

If you took me to a book shop and told me to choose just one, you're going to be in for a long wait. I'll stroll among the shelves absorbing the bright spines and admiring the fonts. The titles call to me, creating run-a-way thoughts of tales that could echo that caption. I might pause and carefully extract a copy. I read the blurb, turn it, take in the cover. I feel the book, playing with gravity as I assess its weightiness, feeling the smooth paperback or the thick bumpy hardback. Opening it I read the middle of the book. No beginnings or ends- I like to see the font and it's size and see if any words jump at me, signalling me to read on. Please don't make the mistake that all books are as dull as the books you were made to pour over at school. The ones you dissected and destroyed for grades. They can be anything you want them to be. Books offer an escape from the droll, rainy day outside, they let you relax. They can make you happy or sad. Leave you feeling drained or frightened. The power of the written word is greater than you think. The way a blank canvas can be filled with characters or places you end up knowing more intimately than your friends is extraordinary. Whole worlds, creatures and feelings so alive to you, you'd think you were there- all present within those ordinary covers.

I love it when books are old, with yellowing paper- green or red velvet covers with gold lettering. The history of the book thrills me. Seeing dates scratched in the first few pages in light blue faded fountain pen, perhaps a message or a name. For Sally, Love Greg- Christmas 1901. Perhaps a newspaper clipping or picture remains inside; a bookmark? A memento? The truth is I will never know, but the idea that someone has enjoyed this book before me, and someone before that whether they are kids or adults makes me happy. The book has a soul and it has been loved. The smell is usually comforting, slightly musty. It reminds me of sitting on the floor in my grandparent's library surrounded by open books I had pulled from their homes to examine in my childish glee. These are the only books I manage to open at the front searching for those few lines a man or woman wrote years and years ago that have stood the test of time: Whether I shall turn out to be the hero of my own life, or whether that station will be held by anybody else, these pages must show.