December 31, 2007 9:39 PM
I love books. There really is no other way to put it. I love them. I love the feel of them, the sturdy heft of a hardbound, the informal easiness of a paperback, the solemn smoothness of a leatherbound. I love the smell, whether it's the musty smell of an old library book or the fresh crispness of a new purchase. Most of all, though, I just like to read. I read magazines, newspapers, cereal boxes, wikipedia articles, DVD inserts...but most of all books.
One of the reasons I like coming home is that I have the time to actually read books. In college (or at least at Berkeley), I don't really have much time to read. Part of that is because readings for school take up a good portion of the time I would ordinarily dedicate to literary pleasures. Furthermore, with so many friends around and so much to do, simply sitting down to read a book seems a bit...dry in comparison.
But coming back home, where we have a wealth of books, is a real treat. I can sit down and just read, read, read. Great classic writers, such as Tolstoy; modern gems like Harper Lee; whimsical fare a la Pratchett; youthful delights courtesy of Paulsen, all these I enjoy reading.
When I read books, I am possessed by a peculiar sort of envy. I wish I could write as well as some of these authors. To wonderfully craft language into a work of art, to take what is usually as mundane and utilitarian and make it something beautiful. Whether it's elegant or blunt, profound or prosaic, well-written literature is a treasure, something to be relished and enjoyed.
Hello, I met you at UiC last week and found you on facebook and then found this... I hope this isn't as creepily stalkerlike as I fear it might be... but I really have to share how happy this entry makes me. Something in my soul heartily agreed with everything you've written here. I don't know anyone else who reads Tolstoy in their spare time! And as a forestry major... Have you considered doubling in English?
Posted by nuri | 2008-01-31
Post a Comment