In 1967 a person borrowed a copy of Moby Dick from a local library. Last week they returned it 56 years overdue. In an act of contrition, they also returned a brand-new copy of the novel.
Both anchor people claimed, with some pride, to have never read the novel. In the way of news programs these days they had a lively discussion. Their denials became animated. It was almost comical, the emphasis they both seemed to place on the accomplishment of having never read the book. I almost expected them to argue about which one of them had not read it first, or not read it better, or more often, or took greater pleasure in not reading it. They seemed to sense they were going a little too far and started walking back from the edge. Instead, they tried to quote some of the more famous lines, and it became obvious they were telling the truth about not reading it.
Certainly, there are a lot of books I haven’t read. Many of them I don’t ever plan on reading, “The Late, Great Planet Earth,” “Fifty Shades of Gray,” (I’m not a prude, mind you, but I like my titillation a little less mainstream) anything by Ann Coulter, or Tucker Carlson. There are a lot of books I own and intend to read, but considering my age, and my complete lack of self-discipline, I may run out of time. And there are books I’m still trying to find. I like to find old copies, well used, well loved, and buy them. It gives me a sense of belonging to a larger group, a connection with people, distant and indistinct.
We were coming back from a little escape, a cabin by the lake, a trip to a Civil War Battlefield, just some time away. Ignoring the modern highway that speeds past all the villages and towns, we took the old road. It’s slower, but more interesting. There was a thrift store, an old building, long, low, rectangular, covered with white asbestos tiles. The sign said open.
It was packed tightly. A central hall, narrow and straight, ran from the front door all the way to a wall marked “Employees only” with a curtain hanging over a small opening. Off to each side of the central walkway were small paths leading around stacked, filled displays, old kitchen utensils, glass bowls, tumblers, and coffee cups, pots and pans, table decorations, clothing, everything from thousands of houses, families, lives. Walking through the dense, claustrophobic kiosks you couldn’t help thinking of all the personal history tied up in this collection of rural American artifacts.
Margaret, the owner, greeted us warmly. Her white shirt was pressed and spotless, as were her black pants, she took pride in her appearance, there was not a white hair out of place.
She told us about her son buying the building and letting her operate her store. Her children had asked her to give up her driving license and they took her to appointments and shopping. We asked about the amazing collection of memorabilia she had, and all the stories you could see spilling from everywhere. We talked about the different eras represented by the various styles and colors.
She was happy to tell us about her life collecting, and how today’s generation didn’t hold onto things anymore. I think she was happy to have somebody to talk to. I kind of felt the store was more of a lifeline than a business, she had something to do with her days.
As we left, I thought I should buy something, just a small sacrifice to the gods of long forgotten times. There was a book, “The Battle for the Pacific.” It had a $3.00 price tag, but she told me I could have it for two.
“Nobody buys books anymore.” She said. You could sense her sorrow about the changes in society.
She’s right. I usually carry a book in case I have to wait somewhere. At the dentist office last time I had at least three people interrupt my reading to tell me how much they love to read, and how important a good book is to them. They “doth protest too much, methinks.” I know people read on their phones, I’m a huge fan of the Libby app and the audio books available at the public library. Indeed, right now I’m listening to Moby Dick, just to spite Monica and Matt on the morning news. But, I think something has changed.
You don’t see many people with books anymore. It used to be common, now when I go to Goodwill I’m often the only one browsing the book shelves.
Books are an obsession for me. I buy them, used and dogeared, then loan them, knowing they will probably never come back. If I have a book that is particularly important I will buy several copies, just because I want to share. I think, no, I hope, someday, I will loan a book to somebody, and they will loan it to somebody else, and it will travel and be cherished. Eventually I will find it at a thrift store and buy it.
Even better somebody will tell me; “Hey, you have to read this book, you will love it.” And they will hand me my book. That would be something, wouldn’t it?
—
This Post is republished on Medium.
—
Photo credit: iStock
