Here it is, the one you’ve all been waiting for: a post about books. It took longer than you thought it would, didn’t it? Well, in truth that’s because, sadly, when I’m in school I don’t get a lot of time to read for fun. During the summer, however, things change.
I spent much of this last weekend planted in an oversized green chair with my feet propped up on an ottoman and a book balanced on a pillow in my lap. And it was beautiful.
You see, while I may have appeared to be in this delightful green chair tucked in the corner near two windows as the light from those windows danced across the pages of my beloved books which I devoured one after another with a fierce intensity, I was not. Not really. In fact, I feel that I was in 19th century London fighting demons alongside angelic yet frustrating characters with deep blue eyes and thick dark hair.
What I mean to say is that a book is so much more than a book. It is a plane ticket, it is a time machine, it is a world unto itself. The hypnotic power of books, words, and stories is something I have never failed to appreciate, and probably will never cease marveling at.
Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve wanted to travel. I’ve ached to see the amazing places I’ve read about – from the rolling green hills of the English countryside to the dusty plantations in the American south to the city lights in New York and London and Paris to the ancient ruins in Greece, Rome, and Egypt to the quiet little towns scattered throughout Europe.
Think what you will. I’ve had plenty of critics who have not been shy about saying that it’ll never happen, or it won’t be like it is in the stories – certainly, you won’t be the first. I don’t care. I am going to go anyway. I must see the places that inspired such amazing stories, characters, and legends, from Odysseus to Elizabeth to Scarlet O’Hara to Harry Potter to Clary Fray and many more.
All of these characters have allowed me to slip unnoticed into a world that is not my own, and take part in the trials and triumphs that go with it. They have created a reprieve from the humdrum average-ness of everyday life, where my biggest and most cumbersome decision is, at times, whether to put cheese on my sandwich.
Stories are simultaneously a cushion for the weary, a shelter for the fearful, love and hope for the pained, an adventure for the bored, a spark for the dreamers, and more.
Stories, books, words, are everything.