Magic that books give us


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Posted by Ed Kiser on September 12, 2008 at 17:42:16 user Kisered.

We here, on this forum, understand what it means to have enjoyed reading a book, and for our favorites, have enjoyed the re-reading of these precious adventures.

In this modern age of TV and Video Games, it sometimes is hard for us in the older generation to get the young ones in our lives to learn to appreciate those books that we in our own childhood, found to be so delightful. But it seems to be an uphill battle to even get our grandchildren to try to OPEN a book, much less to READ it.

Perhaps we can note with delight that the "Harry Potter" books seemed to have accomplished with our young ones what we have so long tried to get them to do, to actually open and read a book, and in that particular case, a series of books which amazinging enough turned out to be rather large books.

But the magic we felt, somehow is not what our new generations are experiencing. I am not referring to the "magic" as officially defined in Harry Potter, but the inner delights that reading books has brought to us throughout these many years. We have experienced the joy of finding an old friend having lain in some box in the attic since our childhood, and once again turning the pages of that friend to relive the joys we found there years ago. And at the end of that visit of renewal, we sigh and close the book, wishing there were more, wondering "what happened then."

With these feelings, it was a delight to discover several passages in a pair of books that somehow describe these feelings rather well, so I wish to share these passages with you all, so we can all share in the magic they describe.

=========================================

"INKSPELL"

by Cornelia Funke
(translated from the German by Anthea Bell)

excerpt from p46, 47 ...

And the shelves behind the glass doors were well filled, for by
now Resa and Elinor, as well as Mo, gave Meggie books, and even
Darius brought her a new one now and then. But her old friends,
the books Meggie had already owned before they had moved in with
Elinor, still lived in the box, and when she opened the heavy lid
it was almost as if half forgotten, voices met her ears and
familiar faces were looking at her. How well worn they all
were... "Isn't it odd how much fatter a book gets when you've
read it several times?" Mo had said when, on Meggie's last
birthday, they were looking at all her dear old books again. "As
if something were left between the pages every time you read it.
Feelings, thoughts, sounds, smells... and then, when you look at
the book again many years later, you find yourself there, too, a
slightly younger self, slightly different, as if the book had
preserved you like a pressed flower... both strange and
familiar."

Slightly younger, yes. Meggie picked up one of the books lying
on top and leafed through it. She had read it at least a dozen
times. Ah, here was the scene she had liked best when she was
eight, and there was the one she had marked with a red pencil
when she was ten because she thought it was so beautiful.

A different Meggie had read that book, very different... and
there she would stay between its pages, preserved as a memento.

==================================================

"If on a Winter's Night a Traveler" by Italo Calvino

"Don't ask where the rest of this book is!" It is a shrill cry
that comes from an undefined spot among the shelves. "All books
continue in the beyond.."

==================================================

The sentiments expressed above from two different sources are reminding me of some observations I had made during my Video conference presentation during the Literary Society meeting, where I was expressing my feelings about re-visiting these books:

"It gave me the wonderful opportunity to get to know these childhood
friends of mine, all over again, to see them even in new light, to
discover things that somehow, either I had missed before, or had
totally forgotten, things that brought that old joy of my youth back
to me so vividly. These children always remained children, and as I
slipped into a re-adventure with them again, I too could regain a bit
of that youth that was so precious. They never grew up, and when I
was with them, I did not have to grow up either."

So we continue to wonder, "what happened then?" We are wanting to offer conjecture as to how they became as adults. We cannot accept that they just "cease to exist." But we must be grateful to accept these little snapshots that Ransome gave us of several fascinating moments in their lives. Now let us accept that, somehow, they did go on with their lives, but that we just were not allowed to share those lives beyond those sippets of their time we are privileged to have offered to us.

Ed Kiser, Kentucky



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