October 30, 2007 12:13 AM
Autumn. The gratifying simple pleasure of getting in bed under fresh blankets , piling up several pillows against the headboard, and opening a fine book. I re-read “Everything That Rises Must Converge” – the short story by Flannery O’Conner in the Collected Works and remembered the reason I fell in love with literature as a schoolgirl. The depth of certain writers only grows as you revisit their work throughout your life. The thing about the internet is that it can be a giant library as well as a great escape. It can be a portal to encourage further interest in a subject that is unknown or unexplored. Many great works of literature can be found online. And YET , to me there is something magical about the personal connection I experience when I hold a book in my hands and turn the pages. The experience of reading a book is akin to me to playing an album in its entirety compared to a single song. Maybe a song can be an entry to the world the recording artist wants to invite you to explore within the album. A book is like a film and an album. It is a personal connection between you , the reader, the listener, the witness of the creative world of the imagination. Can there be a greater gift than this? I think not.