FOR THE LOVE OF BOOKS

When my parents moved from their home in Indiana to Florida, I asked my Father, “Dad is it hard for you to move to a new place?” He said, “Not as long as I have my books.  My books are my portable homeland.”  I am, admittedly, the proud daughter of a bibliophile, and my love of books runs deep.

When I was a very little girl, my Father read stories to me from Bulfinch’s Mythology. I found the Gods and Goddesses from Greek and Roman mythology more challenging than the happy-ending tales of the Brother’s Grimm. Even to this day, I think of Pandora opening the box left in her care—releasing all the evils into the world—except HOPE. The tale still speaks to me as does the flight of Icarus, who flew with wings made of wax and feathers. He was warned not to fly too close to the sun, but in defiance of limited tactics he flew too close. The wings melted and he fell to his death. Today, we are trying to harness the sun’s energy, but still do not dare to venture too close. And, then, there was poor Sisyphus, the hero of the absurd, who rolled his rock up a high hill. As soon as he neared the top, the rock rolled down again, and he was doomed to begin again—a message that absolute knowledge is impossible—even with our smart and getting  smarter computers.

I know that lots of people like book tablets, but I still prefer books made of paper. I like the tactile sense of touching a book and turning the pages. The advantage is that there is no glare, and your book won’t be stolen if left on the beach, and “real” books never die because they don’t need batteries.

Among my many strange quirks, I will add that I am not fond of Book Clubs. It’s not that I don’t like the club members, it’s that I don’t want them to choose my reading material, nor, in all respect, do I want to know what they think of the book.  If I like it..I like it!  If I don’t like it..I don’t like it!  And, often some members primarily read wine.

I also hesitate to lend books to anyone, because “everything comes to him that waits, except loaned books.” My husband, Warren cherished his copy of the script of the movie “Casablanca.” His best friend, George coveted that book. Consequently, after a visit from George “Casablanca” went missing. When we visited George and his wife in Princeton, NJ, Warren would surreptitiously “borrow” his book back. Happily, we visited back and forth often, so the book was well traveled.

When I was a toddler in Germany, the Nazis burned prayer books and other books they didn’t like. Today, in 2023, banning books has become a popular past time in libraries—even books authored by Pulitzer Prize, and Noble Prize winning authors. The only good thing from this activity is that you can be assured that the sales of a book will go up if a teenager is forbidden to read it.

My son, Josh became a bibliophile at a very early age. If I ever wanted to buy him a children’s book stamped with a  Newberry Award medal, he’d say, “Mommy, I don’t want that one. I want books with facts!” To this day, you’d definitely want him on your Trivia Team. I learned not to futz around with fiction with this kid. When he was three years old I read him the story of Babar and he learned that the King of the Elephants died eating a bad mushroom. Being a “fact” guy he refused to eat mushrooms. Then, a week later, when we went to a fancy party, and the filet-mignons had big mushrooms on top, he ran around the room yelling “Poison! Poison!” which didn’t sit well with the host and hostess. However, when he was an actor in New York, he did play fictional characters on the stage. That was as fictional as he ever got.

Later in life, when I wrote my books, I never claimed that they had any redeeming quality except fun and laughs. However, I did know they were a success because librarians all over the country complained that people stole my books out the their libraries.  My claim to fame came when a woman, who stood in line at one of my book signings told me not to add a comment. She  said,  “Just sign your name.  It will be worth more when you are dead.” I have a friend who kept my books in her guest bathroom. She complained,”People sit in there laughing and won’t come out!” That’s when my brother, David gave me the moniker, “The Queen of Toilet Literature.”

As I end this love story, remember what Groucho Marx said, “Outside of a dog, a book is man’s best friend. Inside of a dog it’s too dark to read.”

Esther Blumenfeld