Why Read?

'I have never read a whole book in all my life.'

I recently overheard someone confessing to that.  We are all different (thank goodness), but what a loss it would be never to have read even one book from cover to cover.

To read is to lose oneself in another world.  To sink between the covers, to envelope oneself in layer upon layer of finely crafted phrases.  Like Wild Swimming, you launch yourself into unknown waters and swim, letting the words wash over you.  Letting the language nibble at your toes, immersing yourself in someone else's imagination.  With some books, it is enough to float along the surface for ages, buoyed up by the temperature of the writing.  It may be cool enough to prick at your skin or it may be warmed by the sun to soothe and smooth.  With some books, however, you need to dive beneath the surface, head first then, kicking deeper, feel the weight of the developing story.  You need to explore the characters' depths, coming up for air now and then to contemplate the emerging storyline and see how far you have travelled.

To read is to leave your current environment behind completely, if only for a while.  Your book is your magic carpet.  It can spirit you away to foreign lands, introducing you to new characters.  You can experience the exotic, the dangerous, the seductive, without leaving your comfort zone.  You can wrap yourself in the improbable, even the impossible.  You can have your intellect, your beliefs and your imagination challenged.

The first words can ease you into the beginning of the story or they can catapult you right into the middle of the narrative.  Your author can take you by the hand and accompany you on the journey or he/she can push you into the darkness and seemingly abandon you in the midst of words strung together to excite and charm you.

Your feet can be on the floor of a packed London Underground carriage, whilst your head is roaming the Namib desert.  Maybe your body is curled up safely on your sofa, whilst your mind has been released into the deserted alleyways of Victorian London at midnight, your ears straining to hear the sound of pursuing footsteps.  If you are trapped in a prison cell, a book can transport you through the grey walls and deposit you on the shores of a lake in Northern Canada, where you can feel free.  Maybe you are confined to a hospital bed.  Allow yourself to be ensconced in words which have the power to heal your soul and restore your body.

I was witness to another conversation, wherein a father was bemoaning the type of books his young son was reading.  They were not, in his view, of good enough quality.

'Well,' observed the boy's mother.  'At least, he's reading.'

I couldn't agree more.