Anyone here ever read Keri Smith’s blog? She’s a very talented writer and illustrator, and she’s been blogging for many years. Her ‘Wish Jar Journal’ was actually one of the first blogs I started reading on a regular basis. It’s changed a lot over the years, and these days I think it’s the best it’s ever been. Keri explores a lot of interesting ideas about art and creativity and inspiration, and though I may not always agree with her viewpoints, she certainly does make me think.
I just had to bring to your attention two recent posts written by Keri. The first post is all about how she lost a book she was reading, If On A Winter’s Night A Traveler, by Italo Calvino. Of course losing a book can be very frustrating (and sometimes heartbreaking), but what is so amusing about Keri’s experience of losing this book is the fact that the book she lost is “a book actually about a reader who loses, misplaces, and is unable to find the ending to the books he/she starts.” Then you have to read the conclusion to her missing book saga, and once again be amused by the utter irony of her book-lost-and-found experience.
Keri’s post got me thinking about a couple of things. First, I really must read Italo Calvino. He’s on my radar, thanks to Isabella, who apparently loves the author so much she named her cat Calvino (which I think is an amazing name, and I’m warning you now, Isabella, I may have to steal that name for a future pet). The other thing I started thinking about was the whole experience of losing books. That’s why I chose that image from the movie The Name Of The Rose, based on the book written by Umberto Eco. I guess I’m spoiling it for those who haven’t seen the movie, but there’s a scene near the end of the film where a library full of ancient rare books is set ablaze, and Sean Connery’s character is desperately trying to save as many books from the library as he can. On some level, I kind of understand what that book-loving monk was going through.
Yes, I’ve lost books, and yes, it’s annoying. But when I was 21, I lost almost an entire library. My heart still aches when I think about it. You may recall me mentioning in the past that as a kid, I was surrounded by a multitude of books, thanks mainly to my mother, who loved (and still loves) to read, and had a passion for purchasing lots of penguin paperbacks in her youth. She had such a large collection, that one year my father built a library in our basement to house all these paperback books. The shelves were painted orange (I have no idea why) and covered almost an entire wall of our basement (which was a pretty good sized basement). There was a fiction section which housed Mom’s Agatha Christie collection, as well as books by Ngaio Marsh, Somerset Maugham, Graham Greene, Josephine Tey, Charles Dickens, Roald Dahl…the list goes on and on. She also had a Humour section, a Horror section, a Science Fiction section, and even a section for Westerns (which I never read, and don’t regret at all). In the non-fiction section there were books on Psychology, Child-rearing, Literary Criticism and History, including that Plantagenets series written by Thomas B. Costain, which I would read bits of, from time to time (they were pretty darn thick books for a young kid to muster through!). Because my mother is a librarian, every book had a specific place on the shelves, so it was very comforting for me as a kid to gaze at the shelves and see all the familiar titles, all where they were supposed to be. It was like visiting old friends. Of course I took out many of the books and read them over and over, and of course I tried to put them back in their proper place. I especially loved the smell of the old paperback Penguins. Even as a young girl I would open up a musty old book and drink in the scent of the tattered pages. Yes, the books weren’t actually mine, but I felt they were mine on some level, because I loved them so dearly.
Well…in 1984 the crap hit the fan, as they say, and my parents divorced. I won’t go into details, other than to say that it was a crazy, ugly time. The last thing anyone was thinking about was a bunch of old paperback books. Suddenly the house was up for sale, and suddenly a great many of those books were either sold or given away, without my knowledge. Before they all disappeared I managed to salvage some Agatha Christies, Ngaio Marshes, and of course, all of the Josephine Tey. The have a place of honour in my own precious library. And no, you can’t borrow them. Ever.
When my husband and I first looked at our house, I wasn’t entirely sure I liked it. The room that became our library certainly had a great deal to do with my decision, but you know what really had a part to play in my choosing this house? When we went down to explore the basement, there underneath the circuit box were bookshelves built into the wall, created specifically to house yes – paperbacks. I looked at that shelf and it was all I could do to not begin to weep.
I had felt rudderless for many years in my 20’s, and ached for a home to call my own in my 30’s, once I got married. Now I gaze at the many bookshelves in our house and I can hear my old familiar friends gently whispering to me that yes, it took a little bit of time, but I’ve finally found my way home.
Ooooooo….I’ve got wonderful news! But first, for those not in the know, I am a very 
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