Category: Books

Is a library merely a housing place for books, or is it more than that?

When we think of the word library, we think of a place that holds books, media, newspapers, etc. It’s a place where people go to to check out books, to study, read, and to do research. But can’t we read or do research anywhere, say a coffee shop, our living room, and even our bedroom? And doesn’t technology allow us to have our own library in our tablet, cellphone, etc.?

A cellphone can certainly store plenty of books–books that take up no physical space. But a cellphone is tool for making phone calls, accessing apps, taking photos, texting, etc. Thus, a digital library on a cellphone is far from the primary function of the device. For some, a digital library can even seem nonessential compared to all of the other tools or apps they use on it.

What makes a library unique from the physical places aforementioned is that it calls on us to read. For example, our living room can be a place where we watch TV, play video games, listen to music, etc. Our bedroom is a place of sleep, rest. A coffeeshop is a place to drink coffee, eat, socialize, etc. But a library has little to do with these things with the exception of special events. A library, being filled and inundated with books and articles and magazines, invites us to open them and simply read.

Reading on a rainy day is different from most other days. For example, on a sunny day, there’s incentive to go outside, to travel, and to socialize. We’d rather enjoy the weather, go to the beach, or to enjoy a day of hiking rather than to stay inside.

Even on a cloudy day, we can still enjoy the weather. Despite the drabiness the gray weather brings to the forest or city, the temperature might be cool, pleasant. There’s still opportunity in the outdoors.

But on a rainy day, putting on a jacket, grabbing the umbrella, or driving on the wet roads can be a hassle. And to do any sort of outdoor activity would be out of the question unless there is some urgency to it.

Thus, on a rainy day, books beckon us to open them. Safe and dry from the rain, we leaf through the pages without noticing the minutes and hours that pass. As the rain trickles down the windows and leaves, our mind can be elsewhere: in a far off galaxy, in a world of dragons and mages, in a different part of the globe, or in a different time period.

The rain no longer rings in our ears. A whole world has opened before us–a world in which space and time has a different reality from our own.

When we can’t focus, reading a page from a book is like reading only the words. We can’t picture what we’re reading, put things into context, nor wrap our mind around the ideas. In fact, we don’t even pick up on them. It’s like each word is a separate sentence–distinct from the other words that come before or after them.

I’m sure all of us have been here before. Whether it’s when we stayed up late to study for a test, or when we’ve started a book that we have no interest in reading. None of the sentences or paragraphs register in our brain. In fact, it’s like our working memory isn’t running at all. We are reading without understanding.

We might as well be reading a page of random words. It would make no difference. The only way reading can be beneficial is when we’re focused, engaged, and curious. When we are contemplating, visualizing, or questioning the merits of the ideas or the story. If our mind isn’t an active participate in the text, reading has no meaning.

Have you ever read a book that you’ve already read but had forgotten you read it? It’s a strange experience in which it feels like the book is vaguely familiar, yet, you can’t put your finger on why. It’s not only until you reach a certain point in the story that you figure out why it’s familiar, and then you wonder why you didn’t remember you had read it in the first place.

Perhaps you had forgotten about the story, or you hadn’t thought deeply about it after you had first finished it. Either way, the second time reading it can be an enjoyable experience, one that brings new insight into the story. It’s as if you’re experiencing it from a new mindset given all that has changed since the last time you read it.

It can be like rereading a book from high school and discovering things about it that you weren’t aware of before. Back then, reading the book was more for the grade–to know what will be on the test. But reading it now, it has more to do with curiosity (why else would you be reading it?) than for extrinsic reasons. Rereading a book can bring back old memories and create new ones at the same time.

I read slow when I’m reading fiction, mainly because I don’t want to miss any details, and because I want to learn about the characters and understand what’s happening. Usually if I’m reading a novel fast, I’ll have to double back and reread previous passages just to know what’s going on.

I read fast mostly when I’m reading non-fiction. I’m essentially skim through it, honing in on the information I want to learn, the key points and facts. This goes for news articles, textbooks, brochures, etc.

But whether it’s non-fiction or fiction, the writing really dictates if I’m reading slow or fast. If the author’s style is eloquent, clear, and even humorous, I want to appreciate it, and thus, I’m willing to take my time reading it. But if I find myself bored with a story or an article, I will skim it for the sake of finding the next exciting part.

When we lose interest in a story, it’s hard to dive back into it. It becomes dreadful to pick up–to even think about. Reading the book becomes more like a chore than something we look forward to doing.

There can be many reasons why. The plot is moving too slow. It’s too wordy. Nothing is really happening in the story. The writing doesn’t hook us. Or the conflict is essentially nonexistent. At some point, we will lost interest if a book falls into either one of these categories. We won’t even think about it again.

Only when the story surprises us, or takes our imagination elsewhere, are we engaged in the book. It’s only then that we increase our focus, and spend late nights reading it. And when each chapter gives us a glimpse into something new and mysterious, we’ll work our way through it, even the slow parts, just to see what happens at the end.

When we’re surprised, our nerves spike, and we become alert and hyper-vigilant. A surprise can come out of nowhere, such as a loud noise like a balloon pop, or in a movie when a monster jumps out onto the screen with a thunderous roar.

But in books, the surprise has a very different effect. It’s a surprise that’s created in the mind, in the imagination. It has the effect of overturning our expectations, giving us the chills (goosebumps), even spinning the wheels of our mind’s eye as it tries to process what’s going on (the twist, the irony, etc.).

Being surprised in this way is kind of like having an epiphany: seeing something we didn’t know was possible, seeing something in a completely new way. It’s a revelatory surprise–one that keeps us turning the pages of the book to find out what the next surprise will be.

Trial and error is common in any endeavor. We learn by the error, as well as from the successes of the trial. We figure out what works, and then we repeat this once we’ve ironed it out.

But there comes a point when nothing seems to work. No matter what we try, no progress is being made. This has occurred with me when working on a cover for one of my books. I’ll experiment with the colors, the design, the title placement, and no matter how much I modify them, nothing seems to work.

At some point, I question my own ability, and wonder if I should just hire someone or give myself a break. When you reach that level of frustration, you really want to quit.

But if I work on the cover long enough, I’ll come to realize that I was actually going in the wrong direction. The problem had nothing to do with the color scheme, design, or the title placement. The problem was the concept of the cover. I had to start over, look at it from a different angle.

After a few hours of working on this new cover, I’ll discover that it’s ten times better than what I had originally designed.

What I’ve learned about making my own covers is that it isn’t the details that are the most important thing, but the concept behind it. The concept is what conveys a certain look, mood, and appeal. No matter how many variations I might come up with on a design, starting over can be the best step forward.

The ending of a book can leave a lasting impression on us. It’s not necessarily the last line of the book, or the last chapter of the book, but how the ending leaves us wanting more from the story.

With a book that was boring or uneventful, the ending is a relief. It’s like reaching the finish line of a race that there was no enthusiasm for. Because the book was a chore to read, reaching the ending was like a test of endurance.

But for a book that had captivated us, the ending has much more to offer. Will it impress us, or will it disappoint us because we didn’t get an ending that matched its potential?

A great ending can inspire us to read the sequel, the next book in the series–if it is a series. It can lead us to read other works by the author. And if it’s a great story, it will leave us thinking about it long after we’ve finished it.

There are times when it is difficult to choose what to read. It can be mind boggling–even restless to choose what to read.

I used to make a list of all the books I wanted to read, then start at the top of the list and work my way down. But more recently, I’ve been choosing books capriciously, investing my time in what will hold my attention.

What we choose to read depends on what our aim is in reading. Is it just for entertainment–light-reading, or is for information and knowledge? Is our goal to know a topic or a body of work on, say, science fiction, or is it to be taken to a new world–to escape into imagination?

In the past, I was driven to read an author’s body of work, o read a few books that were popular or were considered “great works”. But having gone through these phases, I feel like that reading “great works”, for example, wasn’t as great as I thought it would be. Some of the books were boring, and it took considerable effort and time to finish them.

The qualities that the books were admired for weren’t things I connected with, such as the author’s style, tone, or use of symbolism. As a result, I steered away from what others hailed as great or amazing, and started choosing books that I’d enjoy or that I would connect with.