The Library - Part I

Few things have brought me more joy over the course of my life than my local library.

I have certainly had instances of great happiness completely unrelated to the library, but it has been a constant presence since before I even learned to read. As a small child, I would pull a picture book off the shelf and "read" to the stone owl that sat in the children's room. I didn't yet understand how the letters on the page formed words, so I looked at the illustrations and created my own stories. I would beg my mom to take out dozens of picture books, most of which she never had the time to read to me. That didn't matter. I took in the pictures.

Even after learning to read, I loved Dr. Seuss, Serendipity books, and Bill Peet for their colorful and imaginative illustrations. But I also enjoyed Chris Van Allsburg, best known for Jumanji. His stories, like his illustrations, were darker. Things less whimsical than downright strange occurred in the eerie worlds he created. The Wretched Stone in particular sent chills down my spine. While I love fantasy of all kinds, I am sure Allsburg is partially responsible for my interest in magical realism.

I didn't read all the books at my library. That would have been impossible; I was fortunate to have an enormous collection at my disposition. But I did read a great number of books growing up. In the summer, I would check out 30 or even 40 at a time. I rarely read them all, but I read several a day, sitting in a fort I'd built or in the shade of a tree. My library kept my mind busy. With all those books at my beck and call, I was rarely bored.