When
I was nine years old, my much older brother gave me a book for my birthday. It
was a big, heavy, hardback copy of the complete works of Lewis Carroll.
This
was no watered down kids’ version of Alice
in Wonderland, with lots of colorful pictures and a few whimsical words
that told Carroll’s story in easy-to-understand form. No, this was the real
deal, with the original black-and-white Victorian drawings by John Tenniel and
the dense Victorian writing, too. It was WAY beyond my skill level, and
included poetry, for God’s sake.
I
loved it. I struggled for years to read it. And I’ve carried it with me through
all my moves, even here to North Carolina.
A
few years later that same brother gave me the complete works of Arthur Conan
Doyle. Same thing, though I’ve passed that one on to my daughter who reads.
A
gift of a book is like no other gift. It says as much about the giver as it
does about the receiver. I’ve always treasured these books not only because
they opened wonderful new worlds for me, but also because they meant my brother
thought I was smart enough to read them. I worked hard to live up to them, to devine
their secrets, because that would help me understand my brother—and his world.
He was smart, and I wanted to be like him.
But
what he knew, and I eventually discovered, was that the books held their own
marvelous appeal. The stories they contained captivated me, swept me away to
another place and time. They weren’t my first or necessarily my favorite such
fictional worlds, but they were certainly a level up from the Nancy Drew
mysteries I was fond of at the time.
Book
revelations can come to you in surprising ways. I found Ian Fleming’s James
Bond by looking out a high school bathroom window. I was there between classes,
hanging out with my friends. I looked out and saw a pink cover (maybe it had
once been red—rain had damaged the book) splayed in the grass. I could read the
title—Diamonds Are Forever—and knew
it for what it was. I suspect someone was reading the juicy parts out loud to a
friend when a teacher walked in. Whoops!
Out the window it went!
I
waited all day to retrieve the abandoned piece of salacious writing, worried
the whole time that its owner would go back to get it. But it was still there
at the end of the day, pages woefully swollen with damp. I took it home and
dried it with a hair dryer—you know, the kind you put over your head like a
cap. (The year was about 1966.) Then I devoured it. Wow! James Bond was one
sexy guy!
Then
I went out and spent all my allowance and babysitting money on others in the
series. My mom finally noticed and wanted to call a halt, thinking maybe I was
a little young for all this. I convinced her I was “mature” enough by
suggesting she read one. (he he!) Since most of the action was implied, she relented.
I only gave up my 007 series last year when I moved to NC.
Finally,
I have a long grocery store line to thank for my career as a romance writer. I
was standing there, bored, having read all the fantastic headlines on the NATIONAL
ENQUIRER to my left, when I looked to my right. I found a display of
paperbacks, which was unusual in itself. But in that display was a dramatic dark
cover highlighting a beefy male biceps with a tattooed circlet. Oooh! I picked
it up and checked the back cover. Seems this was a time-travel romance (Kiss of the Highlander) by Karen Marie
Moning. Say what? Who knew there was such a thing? I bought it to find out more—what’s
it like? Who writes such a thing? Who publishes such a thing?
Once
again, the story swept me away. I loved it. I bought the whole series. And the
science fiction story that I’d been struggling with suddenly worked as a science
fiction romance. The rest, as they
say, is history.
Books
can come to you from anywhere. Take it as a gift and be grateful to the
universe. Or be the agent of change and give a book you love to someone
special. They will love you for it forever.
My
brother Reg who gave me those special books has had a rough year. But he’s
having a birthday this weekend (July 3). Here’s wishing him a spectacular year
ahead, full of health, love and happiness!
Cheers,
Donna
Love this post, Donna! Happy birthday to your brother!
ReplyDeleteReally nice piece of history. I suppose we all have such stories to tell - but you did it. And happy birthday to your brother.
ReplyDelete