I’m a scholar of words; I study them. All my life, I’ve been starving for words. I can’t get enough. I especially crave beautiful words from “other people’s mouths” (to reference Mikhail Bakhtin, the godfather of literacy studies). As a baby, I read in the crib, turning pages, brow furrowed, concentrating intently on gleaning meaning and understanding from whatever was put in front of me or what I reached out for. I continue to reach out, but knowing that life is finite and there is only so much I can take in. What will I read today? I can’t possibly read everything. Time is precious.
I especially appreciate books I can discuss with others or books that were given to me as a gift with the intention of future discussion. There is something meaningful about coming out of one’s metaphorical cave to participate in intelligent conversation about life beyond oneself and to appreciate other’s insight, analysis, and perceptions. I keep thinking about the fact that Joseph Campbell spent five years in seclusion doing nothing but reading. What would I be like if I did such a thing? Who or what would I read and how would it transform me?
