When I feel down, the one activity that seems to ground me is reading. And not just any old reading activity, but reading books that I have already read. Books that I already like.
Everyone has their trigger, I think, that throws them into the funky funk. Mine is disorder. Chaos. Uncertainty.
This is why [...]
When I feel down, the one activity that seems to ground me is reading. And not just any old reading activity, but reading books that I have already read. Books that I already like.
Everyone has their trigger, I think, that throws them into the funky funk. Mine is disorder. Chaos. Uncertainty.
This is why the book that brings me out of the metaphorical depths has to be a book that I’ve already read and already love. It has to be the book that promises to envelope me fully in the certainty of a plot movement to the point that I let my guard down just long enough to learn something I didn’t catch the last time around.
I invariably find a new sentence or a subtle plot twist that I missed before. And the satisfaction of finding something new inside something old is comforting, inspiring, and soothing.
This past week, I reread Alex Haley’s Roots. This is my all time favorite book and if you are an American, and haven’t read this book yet, for God’s sake, go read it. It’s about Africa, slavery, the South, racism, family, beauty, heritage, justice, perseverance, kindness and all the flawed and tragic things that make being a black, white, brown, purple, green or red with yellow polka dots American both special and magnificent.
I think non-Americans will like it, too. I’m just saying that it should be, like, required reading for the citizenship test (that I think everyone should have to take, but that’s another blog post).
And, yes, I already know that there’s some enterprising smart ass out there who is going to cite paltry evidence that Haley plagiarized from another author to write this book. I don’t care. I love the book, alright?
So, anyway, let’s say you were being exiled to a desert island for the rest of your life because the whole world is completely jealous of you and nobody can stand being reminded of their innate inferiority to you any longer.
Baggage restrictions dictate that you can only take ONE book. Given that this will be the only book that you will ever read for the rest of your life and you will have to read it over and over again, which book would you take with you?
I am so very curious as to how many of you are going to write “Twilight.”
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