“Why do you need to read another book?” was the question someone posed to my friend, John. The expected answer was, “I read a book to learn something,” to which the response would be, “Don’t you know enough already?” And like that.
Well, since John told me about that conversation, I’ve spent a lot of time trying to answer the question for myself. Why do I need to read so many books? Surely I’ve caught by now?
It’s true, I read a lot of books because I want to learn new things, but it’s seldom the actual data that I’m interested in. Most of the time I read because I want to know how the author thinks; I want to engage the author in a conversation. I seldom read a book without using a highlighter to mark my favorite parts, and I often write comments in the margins of my books, either agreeing with the author or disagreeing with the author, or linking something the author said with my own thoughts and observations.
Sometimes I want to import the writer’s thoughts into my own heart and mind. For example, one of my reading goals for 2008 is to read all the Spenser novels written by Robert B. Parker. I want to absorb his sense of time and pace and dialogue, to be a better storyteller in my own writing. I’ve learned the value in immersing myself in a particular author, especially if my goal is to absorb his technique and his voice and his imagination. Several years ago, 1999 to be exact, I read every book and essay by C. S. Lewis that I could get my hands on, in honor of the 100th anniversary of his birth. It was a lot of deep reading, and none of it was easy. You need a broad swath to catch someone’s heart - reading only one or two books is not enough.
Recently, I’ve come to understand that often I read in order to have something new to share. For me, it isn’t enough to simply journey through life; I need to tell about it. I’m not the solitary man I claim to be, even though I certainly enjoy solitude. I have a need to talk about what I’ve been through. I have to tell my story, and reading brings new stories.
Sometimes I get frustrated because I can’t remember something from a particular book. I remember a few years ago when Cyndi and I remodeled our son’s old bedroom into a library, I was a little embarrassed as I pulled books out of boxes and put them on the shelf … embarrassed that there were so many books I knew I’d read (they had my highlighting and my handwriting all through them) but I had no memory of reading them or what they were about. I asked myself: what is the point in reading if I don’t remember?
Well, sometimes reading is not so much an intellectual process as it is an existential one. To quote Kathleen Norris, one my favorite writers, books are “a way of reading the world and one’s place in it … working the earth of my heart.”
I wrote this in the margin of her book: “I read so many books and listen to songs and sermons on my Nano, hoping the bits and pieces will compost in my subconscious, and come out as intelligent thought when I write and teach.” I do remember more than I realize, even if I don’t always remember the original source.
Here is another thought about reading. Malcolm Muggeridge wrote – “All happenings, great and small, are parables whereby God speaks; the art of life is to get the message.” I like the notion that everything is a message from God, but my favorite part of that quote is the phrase “the art of life.”
I like it because life is not a formula to be solved; it’s not a computer program to run; it’s not a game to be played; it’s not a random set of events to be survived; it’s not chaos (well, maybe on a mathematical level – but even then there is pattern in chaos). Life is art. And there is an art to living.
As in all forms of art, there is skill involved. And any time skill is involved, there is room for improvement. We can get better at living life, and life can be lived elegantly, regardless of the circumstances.
And so, why do I need to read another book? Because, for me, reading is the art of life, and I want more.
