In today’s outdoor-obsessed, active world, it is sometimes hard to justify a love of reading. Physically, the benefits of a mountain bike ride, a leisurely hike or even an hour on the treadmill are far more beneficial than a curl-on-the-couch book marathon.
I’m lazy on my free days. I opt for the curl every time.
Sometimes my reading habits are bizarre. I recently re-read all seven of C.S. Lewis’ Chronicles of Narnia books. Ten years ago, after I read “Wicked,” I read all 14 “Oz” books by L. Frank Baum. As I look for books to download on my Kindle for an upcoming trip, I am torn between my love of the classics and some of the new literature that is getting such good reviews.
The “classics” were introduced to me when I was a fifth grader at Lexington (Tenn.) City School in 1964. The librarian, Mrs. Davenport, knew I was a good reader and loved books. She bent the rules to let me check out more than one book at a time, and she challenged me to read all the books on her list of “Classic Literature” before I left City School at the end of eighth grade.
I took that challenge seriously, and I read every book on her list … I forget how many … except one, “The Last of the Mohicans.”
The best thing about Mrs. Davenport’s list of books is that she didn’t expect anything from me after I read them. No plot analysis, searches for subtext or parallels to modern times to ferret out. She would simply ask if I enjoyed it and then would hand me another book. She picked the order. I just accepted the books, read and returned.
Perhaps starting me out with “Charlotte’s Web” and then shaking me up with “Watership Down” taught me quickly that Mrs. Davenport wasn’t going to let me get bored. By the time she was adding “Animal Farm” and “A Tale of Two Cities” in my eighth-grade year, I couldn’t wait to see what was coming next.
I didn’t like “Animal Farm” or “A Tale of Two Cities” back then, having little concept of the allegory of the first and finding the second tedious to read.
From those auspicious literary beginnings grew a love of books and a passion for good writing. My tastes were all over the board, as they still are. Back then, I would sit and read one of Mrs. Davenport’s books, then follow the session by devouring all the Archie and Superman comic books I could afford to buy at Davies Drug Store. The only genre I wasn’t crazy about – and can still take-or-leave – were autobiographies.
When you add up all the classics that I haven’t read or would like to re-read as an adult, plus the good reads on the market today, plus the astonishing wealth of great literature being written for young people, there just aren’t enough hours in a day.
Now, if I could just convince myself that listening to a book on Audible while walking on the treadmill is just as good as the couch curl, well, life would be balanced, wouldn’t it?
Unfortunately, on most days, I remain off-kilter…