(free write) A Book-Lover's Ode to Memories
If you take a moment to browse though the shelves of children's books at a modern library, you would find a wide selection of high adventure and unbeatable friendship and the power of imagination. You would find pirates and princesses and spaceships and magic. You might even find here and there a book or two about growing up in different times and places than our own.
Then you'll find it. An old book, tucked back amongst shiny new ones. The cover won't be bright. It won't have a photograph or full-color illustration on it. No fancy fonts for title and author, no no manic color for the binding. You haven't seen it in years. It's old, older than you, and it conjures up the unique sort of magic you thought you'd left behind for good.
The Incredible Journey. Basil of Baker Street. Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH. The House on the Hill.
They're books. Old books. From the 80s, the 60s, maybe even earlier. They're books you read as a child. They bring back memories of the days you used to curl up under the covers and devour them page by page. When you begged for just ten more minutes, you're almost done, you can't possibly go to bed yet. How can you sleep without knowing how the story ends?
Before you know it, you have a stack. Five, ten, a round dozen books you forgot existed a decade ago, that are suddenly your best friends again. You, a grown man or woman, can't wait to get home and slip back to Wisteria Avenue, to re-explore the rose bush and help Basil find the twins.
Unlike the cheap thrillers and bawdy romance novels you may have read in the interim, you'll find these books timeless. They haven't changed at all; you have. So why do you still feel for Phillip? Why do you fear for and with Mrs. Frisby? Why isn't the notion of a mouse detective ridiculous? Why does the plight or three fictional pets matter so much?
This is the power of a classic. This is how they become classics. Their meaning and morals don't change with time. In generations to come, they will still mean and teach the same things they've always meant and taught.
Classics don't change- they don't need to. That's what makes them precious. A true classic is a story that could have been understood and loved a century before it was written, and will be loved hundreds of years after its author is gone.
Now, The House on the Hill is calling to me, and I don't know how much longer I can resist. Children both young and old need only pick up a book to join me.
I look forward to seeing you there.
Then you'll find it. An old book, tucked back amongst shiny new ones. The cover won't be bright. It won't have a photograph or full-color illustration on it. No fancy fonts for title and author, no no manic color for the binding. You haven't seen it in years. It's old, older than you, and it conjures up the unique sort of magic you thought you'd left behind for good.
The Incredible Journey. Basil of Baker Street. Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH. The House on the Hill.
They're books. Old books. From the 80s, the 60s, maybe even earlier. They're books you read as a child. They bring back memories of the days you used to curl up under the covers and devour them page by page. When you begged for just ten more minutes, you're almost done, you can't possibly go to bed yet. How can you sleep without knowing how the story ends?
Before you know it, you have a stack. Five, ten, a round dozen books you forgot existed a decade ago, that are suddenly your best friends again. You, a grown man or woman, can't wait to get home and slip back to Wisteria Avenue, to re-explore the rose bush and help Basil find the twins.
Unlike the cheap thrillers and bawdy romance novels you may have read in the interim, you'll find these books timeless. They haven't changed at all; you have. So why do you still feel for Phillip? Why do you fear for and with Mrs. Frisby? Why isn't the notion of a mouse detective ridiculous? Why does the plight or three fictional pets matter so much?
This is the power of a classic. This is how they become classics. Their meaning and morals don't change with time. In generations to come, they will still mean and teach the same things they've always meant and taught.
Classics don't change- they don't need to. That's what makes them precious. A true classic is a story that could have been understood and loved a century before it was written, and will be loved hundreds of years after its author is gone.
Now, The House on the Hill is calling to me, and I don't know how much longer I can resist. Children both young and old need only pick up a book to join me.
I look forward to seeing you there.