Wherein a Reader discovers his love of Books; the Same illuminates his poor powers of Recollection; Reading Firsts; books the writer is Currently Reading
Oh! to have some kind of look back machine so I could see and report on the first book ever read to me; the first book I fell in love with before I could read, sucked in to the sound of the words; to watch as I learned to read and to love to read; to discover what was the first book I ever read alone and unassisted.
All of those memories are gone, of course, lost in the kindly obfuscation of time. No complaints generally: that same gentle obfuscation that prevents us from remembering the horrors of birth, our first encounter with fire, our discovery of pain and fear. Be grateful for memories imperfections.
Except, of course, for where books are involved.
I want to remember! I want to know! I want to know my first solo read, my first coloring book. I would love to know my first literary critique (I imagine that was something on the order of "this is bull crap, Batman beats Martian Manhunter any day!").
Somewhere, somebody probably has that kind of memory and more power to them, but not me.
I want to know the exact moment that I fell in love with Books. When did I first love to read? I have no idea. In my mind I have always been a reader, but have no idea when I first fell for reading.
But there are a few firsts that I do recall, hopefully correctly.
Firsts
The first book series I fell in love with was Doctor Dolittle , by Hugh Lofting. Everyone always remembers the musical with Rex Reed, but the books were boss. The intrepid doctor went to the moon at one point and had the coolest adventure there! Its the one book series I most wish Tim Burton would get a hold of. I remember the doctor's polyglot parrot had a favorite swearing language - Dutch? Swedish? Lofting was a fabulist but I never felt like he was talking down to me, not for one Pushmi-Pullyu second.
The first book deemed "too adult" and subsequently snatched away from me was The Cardinal Sins by Andrew Greeley. My Aunt Judy (who, by the way, would later do a moral flip-flop and take me to see my first R rated movie, the ridiculous stinkerino Convoy with Kris Kristofferson) caught me reading it at my Grandmother's house, grabbed up, gave me a bit of a chewing out, and told my mother. Mom kind of shrugged her shoulders - she was like that with books, didn't worry too much about what I read. Bless her. I will say this - while I have never gone back and re-read it, as I recall Cardinal Sins was pretty hot, probably way too hot for me at that age. I mean, go look at that cover? Are you shocked an 11 year old boy would pick it up? Looking back I figure Judy was just mad that I lost her place.
The first book I got in trouble for reading at school while I should have been paying attention was Stephen King's Pet Sematary. I was in second grade I believe, still at California Avenue Middle School (Uniondale NY. GO TROJANS!), and I got caught reading when I should have been paying attention to math or history or whatever. I have no idea what the class was or the name of the teacher, but I still recall the Stephen King marathon I went on that year. I read every one of his books I could get from either the school or the public library, and I was transported. My wife hates Stephen King to this day, but I count myself amongst his Constant Readers. And this one was a corker. I don't know if its the scariest book I ever read, but it might be the scariest King book.
This pic is in no way an endorsement of this book. Swearsies.
The first book that made me think "I could write a better book than this!" was the Swiss Family Robinson, a book I hated and will probably always hate. I wish I could bring myself to look at it with adult eyes, to give it a second chance. But to me, the Swiss Family Robinson - the most unrealistic and catastrophically boring family ever find themselves washed up on an unpopulated island - were in direct competition with Pippi Longstocking, who of course fucking rocked.
I had just finished the Pippi books, and a sweet librarian from the Uniondale Public Library (no idea her name but in my memory of this she had salt and pepper hair and what had to be a home knitted vest on over a turtleneck) suggested the old Swiss Family. I gave it a shot.
Pfui! What a gyp. The so called "family" never fussed at each other, never had even one second of despair at their situation, never really complained, were all like "Yes, but we must all remember to thank God for all his gifts! Now take a turn on the home made water pump I just managed to slap together with spit and coconuts." "Why yes father, I can't wait to be of service to our family!"
I remember thinking that Pippi, with her cannibal king father and superhuman strength, was so much more real than the all of the Robinsons put together.
Okay, I am a little too pissed at the Swiss Family for a 43 year old man. Forgive me, it is the old wound.
To continue with my firsts:
The middle cover was the one I had. Makes my heart leap.
The first book that truly transported me into another world was, no big surprise here, The Hobbit. I had picked up the Dungeons and Dragons habit that year, and some considerate soul (Grandpa? Uncle Brian? one of my folks?) got me the boxed Lord of the Rings set for either Christmas or my birthday. I remember finishing the Hobbit, putting it back into the box, and starting on The Fellowship of the Ring without so much as a potty break.
(Totally true story: when they announced the Lord of the Rings trilogy was being made into a movie series, I got myself new copies and read them again, for probably the fourth or fifth time. Because, you know, you want to prep up for a movie series. Anyway I was taking a bus trip from Spokane home to Seattle and had my new set of LOTR books and the first of a new series that a woman in my office convinced me I had to read, a little book about a kid named Harry Potter. Anyway, I finished The Two Towers in the bus, looked out the window for a few minutes, and decided I would take a little break from Middle Earth and see what all the teen wizard fuss was about. I got about a third of the way through the first page and had what felt like a minor panic attack. Seriously - the ring was in the hands of the minions of Sauron and I was going to read about some gimp suburb kid? Out loud I said "Sam, Frodo - wait, I'm coming!" I was reading Return of the King in something like four seconds.)
(PS, have since read all the Harry Potter books. If you haven't you should.)
That's probably enough for my first go at Firsts. If you have read this far I thank you. This blog is a true work of self-indulgance. I can not imagine that anyone wants to read about how much I love books, which ones I am currently into, which ones changed my life, and which ones dissappointed. But that's all thats going here.
Currently Reading:
A Passage to India by E. M Forster
I might just be reading this book by accident . . . I just picked it up off the shelf the other day and started it over coffee. Today I notice that here in my new home town there is a restaurant with the same name right across the street. Subconscious association? The Secret? Who knows, who cares.
A Passage to India has many of the qualities of books I do not like, but here I am about a third of the way in and its got its hooks in me. I know nothing about this period in history, when the British still had an Empire and owned India, and I find it truly fascinating. This is the opposite of a "comedy of manners" - is there such a thing as a tragedy of manners? The British and the native Indians are caught up in a strange dance of manners, each character misunderstanding the others intentions and meanings as their cultures collide.The characters are complicated, flawed, and believable. My issues with it so far are the little writer things - like being careful not to confuse with pronouns. Also, he switches back and forth between points-of-view in a way that makes me have to go back and double check whose eyes I am looking through more than I would like. Some of my all time favorite books do this as well, but in this book its bothering me a bit. Still, great read so far, no question.
A Passage to India is a part of my mission to read all of the books the missus and I brought up from Athens. More on that later.
Current Audiobook
Joyland, by Stephen King
What can I say? Stephen King has his detractors. Many, many detractors. Like, massive battalions of detractors marching through the streets with signs, chanting "Hack! Hack!" Chief amongst them is my wife - if there were a formal battalion of King haters, the missus would be their Sargent-At-Arms.
Full disclosure: I do not love every word of every book. Obviously, given a man who has written two books a year since before I was born, there are going to be some clunkers. And he has writer habits that I am not crazy about, that show up an awful lot even in the books of his that I love.
But I am a fan. And so far I am enjoying Joyland just fine. I've downloaded it on my Ipod and am listening mostly in the mornings and afternoon as I walk my dog.
In my old life I had a two hour commute and did lots and lots of audiobooks. Like, many many a year. Two hours a day of audiobooks six days a week and you get a whole lot of reading done. But more on my audiobook habit later.
Joyland has promise. As of this afternoon's walkies I am exactly 90 minutes into its full 6 hour running length. I am interested in the ghost story aspect, I like the characters, I am enjoying it as a slice of life of the world of of the American Carny. I have laughed out loud three times. But it only has three and a half hours left for something unspeakably horrifying and/ or gross to happen, so . . . cross a finger for your old homeboy. And if its just a kind of ghost who done it, as I am beginning to fear? Well, Doctor Sleep is going to be out any day now . . .
