I've recently moved into a small flat of my own and been reunited with books that defined the first 70 years of my life. I wasn't aware of missing them before - I knew where they were and I knew they were safe, and I didn't think about them. But now they are in my bookcases. I can see them, touch them, nod a greeting, and know they are there within arm's reach (it is a VERY small flat) at any time of the day or night.
And I am starting to re-read! Old friends, revisited, that remind me of why they were my friends in the first place. It's a very specific, particular pleasure.
When my mother, who was by then almost completely blind, moved into her last home, she brought all their books with her. Her sitting room was lined with bookcases, filled with books she couldn't read. But they were there, within reach, full of memories from a rich reading life that she'd shared with my father. It made absolute sense she wanted them, old friends, with her. Some of those books are with me now. I guess I'm re-reading for both of us. She'd like that.
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3 comments:
Wonderful thought!
It looks like a lovely spot to reacquaint yourself with old friends! - Sue Purkiss
Having old friends around. It's a comfort.
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