I wasn’t always a reader. My parents actually had to bribe me to read growing up, and even then I was a wee bit stubborn and the offer of a $1 to read anything – cereal box, comics, the back of a book, a menu, “anything for the love of God!” – were blithely ignored. I don’t know why I fought reading so hard, but I did. That is until my parents – apparently at the urging of my Aunt D. – bought me a poetry collection. I wish I could wax poetically about that particular volume, but it has long since been lost in the shuffle of bookcases during one of my many moves and I have no idea who I even fell in love with. All I can tell you is that it sparked a lifelong love affair with the written word.
I stuck with poetry through those emotionally charged pre-teen years but added in chapter books that took me away to far-fetched lands. Romances and titillating thrillers joined the fold as I entered my teens, and by college I was experimenting with Vonnegut, Hesse, and Coelho. Each new book brought me to a new place, let me taste new food, experience love, betrayal, strife, joy, anger, despair. And with a college schedule, I was free to dive in to as many as I wanted. Amazon had become a thing my freshman year and I reveled in being able to order all my favorite guilty pleasures at the click of a mouse. By the time my parents came to pick me up at the end of the semester my bookshelf had swelled and would continue to do so over the next four years.
By the time I moved back home I had amassed quite a collection. In a fit of what I can only describe as insanity, I cleaned my shelves off before I left for the Peace Corps. I decided I had outgrown many of the stories of my youth and with an air of idiotic superiority, I said goodbye to 100s of books from my youth – goodbye Baby-Sitters Club, goodbye Nancy Drew, goodbye The Secret of the Seven Crows, goodbye Love Stories – I felt a pull of a regret as I packed them away for Goodwill, but not enough to stop my 22 year old self from tossing away my dear friends.
Traumatized by the experience I held on tightly to each story after that and brought them all with me when I moved to New York. As I made no money, buying new books became a luxury and so I learned to scour the used book websites and would spend hours pursuing the shelves of the Strand to find the cheapest used copy to rebuild my collection. On occasion I would still splurge on the newest edition by one of my favorites, but for the most part my collection didn’t expand at quite the same pace that it had once.
Regardless, by the time I moved to DC, my collection was close to what it once had been. My bookshelves had reached capacity, I had begun to decorate my room with small piles of books. My roommate at the time D, kindly tried to encourage me to let some go – but they were old friends that I could visit after a bad day – warm comfortable sweats that I could slip into to escape reality. Sure I knew the story by heart, but wasn’t it comforting to flip to just the right point in the story and be with the heroine as she realized who the killer was and that he was in the house with her and then heart-racing you fell into step along side her as she navigated through the house to grab the knife and fling herself out the back door just in the nick of time?! Is there a better feeling than to know what is going to happen but still get so caught up that your heart races as you turn those well-worn pages?! I defy you to tell me something quite as wonderful as that.
However, there were stories that I had neglected and try as I might I could not fall into step with them any longer. Luckily for me, I had made some new friends in DC, and received a well-timed invite to a book swap. Bring along books you were planning to donate and we’d pile them on a table, have some brunch and champagne, and we’d all paw through and come home with new treasures while off-loading some that had run our course. That first swap was a nerve wracking experience. First of all, I knew three people but only one well – which is always hard for me. I’m a great fake extrovert – but in reality, I am still that shy little kid who didn’t turn their homework in for an entire year because I was too nervous to ask the teacher which bin it went in (true story). Plus, I love popcorn entertainment, and this is DC, which is notorious for highbrow and a low appreciation for the lowest common denominator. However, a book exchange and a true respect and appreciation for my new friend N, were too big of lures to resist and so I very carefully picked out a very appropriate outfit – put together a mix of my most neutral books that I was ready to part with and for the heck of it threw in a couple of my trashy faves. Upon arrival, N. plied us with champagne and made the introductions and before we knew it hours had passed and we all had a stack of new and interesting books. Unsurprisingly, I was the only one who brought smut, but all those smutty stories were snatched up by the end with eager hands – quite possibly egged on by the bubbly. And thus a tradition was born. The book swap is on year 4 now, the circle has changed slightly, but for the most part remains a dedicated group. I am looked on for the popcorn, N. brings the cookbook and cup of joe reads, each member has an expected genre but over the years we have gotten to know each other and find ourselves buying with the Group in mind. I got this because I thought you’d love it, I wasn’t sure about this- but just knew one of you would love it. Where we would have bought something on the ereader we seek out the paper coup to ensure we can share with this circle. Twice a year we meet and twice a year we spend hours catching up and sharing thoughts on life, love, successes, sorrows, and most importantly on the books that have shaped us. It is one of the most intimate circles you can be a part of and I am forever changed and a better person because of it.
So thank you mom and dad for not giving up on me when bribery failed. :)
