on becoming a bibliophile
I thought it time I wrote something about books as it's part of the name of this blog.
Those of you that have known me for awhile know that I love books. My personal library was not huge, but it was eclectic, with a nice mix of classic and contemporary literature, mysteries, history, mythology and folk and fairy tales, French and English grammar, and, of course, art books, with an emphasis on photography. While my library is pretty small nowadays, thanks to too many moves and too little patience for packing, my art and French and English books have remained. I am slowly adding to them with trips to my local used bookstore.
I have read for pleasure as long as I can remember. I was often accused of being just like my mother, "with my nose in a book all day." For some reason, I didn't mind that particular comparison.
I think my love of the written word began as a young girl with the wonderful collection of books my grandmothers bought for me. I remember one being all about France with amazing artwork of people dressed in mid to late eighteenth century clothes... they all looked like Marie Antoinette. I actually found this exact book at a used book shop in Evanston several years ago, but couldn't afford to buy it, sadly. I think my Francophilia had something to do with this book. Just the tiniest bit.
I also loved a series that "grew" with me. Stories from all over the world. And such stunning illustrations. Those books truly captured my imagination and my young mind. Much to my delight, I found this entire set in an antique shop in the suburbs while visiting a dear lady a few years ago. And, bless her heart, she bought them for me. They made the trip to New Orleans and the trip back to Chicago.
After I deemed these too babyish for me (although I still pulled them out every once in a while to read my old favourites and escape from my annoying younger brothers) I moved on to Nancy Drew and the Dana Girls Mysteries. Gosh, did I love those girls.
The thing is, these literary travels have stayed with me and they done me good. They gave me a vivid imagination which is put to very good use in my photography and in every other aspect of my life, whether it be problem solving at work, coming up with a new recipe in the kitchen, putting together gifts at the holidays, rearranging furniture, or planning my travels.
I just roll my eyes when someone tells me they only read nonfiction. What I hear is this, "I have no imagination." And we probably won't ever become fast friends.
I don't think print is dead. I sincerely hope bookstores will not go the way of the old service stations with employees that actually cleaned your windows and were pleasant doing it or the old drive-in restaurants. Those little trays, heaped with A&W hamburgers and frosty mugs (and clipped on the window which I was always afraid would break), were such a treat for me.
Just like books and the memories they evoke and the new impressions they create every time I open one.
Those of you that have known me for awhile know that I love books. My personal library was not huge, but it was eclectic, with a nice mix of classic and contemporary literature, mysteries, history, mythology and folk and fairy tales, French and English grammar, and, of course, art books, with an emphasis on photography. While my library is pretty small nowadays, thanks to too many moves and too little patience for packing, my art and French and English books have remained. I am slowly adding to them with trips to my local used bookstore.
I have read for pleasure as long as I can remember. I was often accused of being just like my mother, "with my nose in a book all day." For some reason, I didn't mind that particular comparison.
I think my love of the written word began as a young girl with the wonderful collection of books my grandmothers bought for me. I remember one being all about France with amazing artwork of people dressed in mid to late eighteenth century clothes... they all looked like Marie Antoinette. I actually found this exact book at a used book shop in Evanston several years ago, but couldn't afford to buy it, sadly. I think my Francophilia had something to do with this book. Just the tiniest bit.
I also loved a series that "grew" with me. Stories from all over the world. And such stunning illustrations. Those books truly captured my imagination and my young mind. Much to my delight, I found this entire set in an antique shop in the suburbs while visiting a dear lady a few years ago. And, bless her heart, she bought them for me. They made the trip to New Orleans and the trip back to Chicago.
After I deemed these too babyish for me (although I still pulled them out every once in a while to read my old favourites and escape from my annoying younger brothers) I moved on to Nancy Drew and the Dana Girls Mysteries. Gosh, did I love those girls.
The thing is, these literary travels have stayed with me and they done me good. They gave me a vivid imagination which is put to very good use in my photography and in every other aspect of my life, whether it be problem solving at work, coming up with a new recipe in the kitchen, putting together gifts at the holidays, rearranging furniture, or planning my travels.
I just roll my eyes when someone tells me they only read nonfiction. What I hear is this, "I have no imagination." And we probably won't ever become fast friends.
I don't think print is dead. I sincerely hope bookstores will not go the way of the old service stations with employees that actually cleaned your windows and were pleasant doing it or the old drive-in restaurants. Those little trays, heaped with A&W hamburgers and frosty mugs (and clipped on the window which I was always afraid would break), were such a treat for me.
Just like books and the memories they evoke and the new impressions they create every time I open one.
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| All photos © Trish Korous |
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