All my life for as long as I have been able to read, I have loved reading. I guess when I was little and first learning to read, I had already grasped that the squiggles on the page meant something, and somehow, because I so loved stories and rhymes, reading happened. I was so lucky because many people struggle with it, and some – even when they are literate, don’t enjoy it and see it only as a necessary chore. Many others have other difficulties and that must be so annoying and frustrating for them, to see other people who can make sense of the shapes known as letters, which put together to make words, which linked make sense and sentences. Of all the things I enjoy, reading is my favourite with writing a close second. In times of difficulty and sadness, or moments of stress and worry, reading (and writing) gives an escape and comfort, and sometimes an answer too.
Reading for me is so easy – it’s almost like absorbing words without even thinking I’m going through a process, and I can read quickly, as if it’s not word by word or phrase by phrase, but a chunk of understanding. As a child and growing up, I could read even boring things, which helped with some subjects at school; now I seem to have lost that, and if I’m not enjoying a book or article for whatever reason, my eyes slide across the text and there’s a barrier in my brain repelling it. If it’s important that I read whatever it is, I have to properly concentrate and really focus and almost mutter the text to myself. This mumbling is fine if it’s a news report I want to read, or instructions for something or another, but when it’s a book – then (confession time) sometimes I skip the “boring” bits or worse still, give up reading it altogether.
Giving up on a book is, I guess, ok but if it’s something which cost quite a bit, then I do try and soldier on and sometimes make it grumpily to the end. Another reason I really try and soldier on is if it’s a book club book and our little gang is going to meet together to discuss it. However, sometimes – especially if I don’t think it’s well-written as opposed to not being a preferred genre, I do, sheepishly and ashamed, confess that I couldn’t read it.
Well very sheepishly and ashamed, I confess that I didn’t finish this month’s book. I could make excuses that we’ve had a very busy and stressful time (funerals and prospective house moves) but in fact I just could not get to grips with ‘The Book Thief’ by Zusak Markus. As I get older I struggle with books which involve children in realistic, stressful, dangerous and frightening settings. I don’t like books about war-time situations, and the dreadful and fearful experiences everyone, especially the young, have to endure. I also am very conservative in my preferred narrative, and having narrators from beyond the grave, or spectral, ghostly, angelic, or in this book, Death, doesn’t make for a comfortable read, and in some cases, makes a very uncomfortable read. Do not read on if you think you might want to get the book in future – or try and skip the next bit!
‘The Book Thief ‘ is a historical fiction novel by the Australian author Markus Zusak, set in Nazi Germany during World War II. Published in 2005, ‘The Book Thief’ became an international bestseller and was translated into 63 languages and sold 17 million copies. It was adapted into the 2013 feature film, The Book Thief. The novel follows the adventures of a young girl, Liesel Meminger. Narrated by Death, the novel presents the lives and viewpoints of the many victims of the ongoing war. Themes throughout the story include death, literature, and love.
Wikipedia
I am at present also reading an absolutely excellent, and very well written book, Ice to Athelstan – The Emergence of England – A 10,000 year journey from the Last Ice Age to England’s First King’. As you can guess from the comprehensive title, it is a non-fiction and fairly academic book, and although some of the ideas take some mind-juggling to appreciate, I’m finding it a gripping rread, and stayed up way too late reading it.
Lois Elsden 