Editor reflects on childhood, adulthood reading habits
>>Print ViewPublication Date: 12/01/2008
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I major in English. My least favorite part of this is the sad, sad look people get on their faces when I tell them what I study. Clearly, I am stupid and have therefore taken refuge in the land of liberal arts � warm and soft for the time being, but destined to bring about Dickensian levels of destitution (this thing I just did is called alliteration). "Oh," say their mournful eyes, "you're going to be poor." Yes, but library books are free. �
Of all the relics from my childhood, I miss reading the most. Rather, I miss the way I read books as a kid, which is to say I gobbled them up. When I was still small enough to fit in a shopping cart, my mother would give me a book to read while she pushed me around the store and made her purchases. And my kid-like reading skills would mean I polished off the story before we hit checkout.
Remember Roald Dahl? He was likely my favorite author, probably because he was sort of nasty and perverse, and let's be honest: children love the nasty and perverse. Louis Sachar of "Holes" and the "Sideways Stories from Wayside School" books was also a literary rock star.
And I couldn't get enough of those mass-produced series: "The Baby-sitters Club," "Goosebumps," "Boxcar Children," those insipid Sweet Valley Twins. Even if they weren't the most imaginative books, I loved them because there would be a new one every month. I couldn't wait to get the latest one and find out what hideous outfit Claudia wore this time. (Some of you know exactly what I'm talking about.)
"The Giver," "Ella Enchanted," the complete works of Beverly Cleary and Judy Blume, and all those Newbery Award winners where the dog dies � I think of my joy upon reading them as a child, and I miss that.
Who has time to read like that anymore? In between school, work, household tasks and treasured moments of sleep, leisure moments tend to be of the turn-off-your-brain variety. Frankly, I can completely embrace the idea of surrendering to the television. After all, reading takes work, while you don't have to do much to watch TV.
For me, I also find that I'm not as easy to please. When I was little, any book was a good book. Now I'm more picky. A bad book is like getting punched in the face � who wants to spend precious hours on a novel with a crappy ending?
Looking back on the books I loved when I was a child, I notice the loss of that particular happiness in my present life. It's not completely gone, however. I read different books now, when Iget the chance, but they still have the ability to inspire awe: "The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay" by Michael Chabon, "Middlesex" by Jeffrey Eugenides, "Persuasion" by Jane Austen. And I don't think it's just me: the popularity of books like "Harry Potter" and "Twilight" with adults shows they can be transported by stories. I hate "Twilight," including the sparkly vampire/heartthrob/stalking creepster Edward --, but if the fans are enthralled in a story, I envy them.
Even as an adult, few things make life worth living like reading does. Stories are one of the best ways to develop empathy, to understand different viewpoints. They are an antidote to loneliness. They can be read for enjoyment or for intellectual stimulation � or, shockingly, both. I am an English major, after all.
Natalie Banka is a junior in the College of Liberal Arts. She can be reached at opinions@purdueexponent.org.