The Virtue of Unread Books

"...the array of books in our home is intended for ongoing, well-rounded usefulness. They're there to show us what's possible, not venerate what's already been. Even the history books, which are expressly about what has already been, are there to light an inquisitive fuse and point us forward into new exploits."

-Scott James

Although we didn't have a terribly sophisticated home library growing up, I can remember countless hours sprawled out on the floor, or in a chair, or on Mom & Dad's bed, paging through whatever 'looked interesting' on the shelves in various corners of our house. I spent a lot of time paging through our illustrated children's dictionary, our large family bible, and the many chapter books left behind by older siblings at college (A Wrinkle in Time, Anne of Green Gables, etc. ). There were also times where I picked up something that turned out to be less than interesting. And we must not forget the old, worn, copies of Fulton Sheen on the end tables that sewed the seed for a life-long reading adventure. Or the subconsciously comforting notion that the presence of Catholic books on marriage exuded-that they lined the head-board shelves in my parents' bedroom sent a clear message that Mom & Dad were focused on being Mom & Dad. (The same thing went for magazines-thankfully our house only subscribed to the 'family-friendly' ones...I now laugh when I think back on how miffed I was that other kids at my Catholic school were totally clueless and grossed out about things like NFP when I had been leafing through old copies of CCL magazine for years. Ha.)                                  

We keep books around as reminders both of what's been and the unknown to come. It's true that browsing is still one of the best ways of discovery. I'm delighted whenever a friend visits and finds something that intrigues them on one of my shelves, after which I usually insist that they borrow it. While not the bibliophile that I am, I was so tickled that my parents automatically took part in this great pastime on their recent visit, each picking out something that looked good, and then promptly reading themselves to sleep.

Read the whole thing here.

Staying for the Credits: The Problem of Reverence

I absolutely love going to the movie theater alone. To me, there is no pleasure quite like attending a late Saturday morning matinee, free from the gaggling primetime crowds-- just me, the film, and about three other quiet pleasure-seekers, all silently brimming with excitement as we enter our nearly empty sanctuary. I've always been told that I'm a picky movie-goer-I'm one of those people who scowls at animated crowd reactions and insists on staying until all the credits have rolled (usually out of principle to give everyone the credit they deserve, but also secretly to see if this film is the one out of every few dozen that rewards our loyal patience with a brief post-script). Call me a scrooge, but remaining silent for two hours inside a dark theater shouldn't be too much to ask (especially at today's ticket prices). I usually explain my movie-going rituals in terms of the receptivity required in order to fully experience art in any form-it can be difficult to truly observe the drama in front of our eyes if we are preoccupied with instantly responding to it. The film can too easily be replaced by meta-experience, and we miss some of its richness. Not every film is a bastion of moral seriousness or provocative texture, but I always thought it was quite obvious that we go to the theater to engage ourselves with a story-not to listen to ourselves talk. We can't fully take part in the adventure unless we let ourselves sink back into the woodwork and let the drama take center stage.

Head in the Sand...

Sisyphus, Titian

Goodness, it's been a while. But they say that a neglected blog is a sign of a full life, right? Among other things, the non-blogging adventures that have occupied the last month or so have included moving. Again. If you include the times I have changed residences within cities, I have moved eight times in the just-under three years since I finished college. To say that I am eager to settle down is an understatement. 

Among the things that preoccupy me far more than they should during the moving/settling in process is how much it disrupts reading. Notice how the thumbnail at the right has not moved since December. The whole planning-moving-post-moving process and its corresponding practicalities have siphoned off most of my reading time and energy, which is significant, considering my usual manner. One would think Lent would help to remedy this problem. But both slowing down and interior silence have been hard to come by recently. I spend my drive home nearly every day contemplating the large stack of delicious books sitting by my armchair at home, only to collapse into bed shortly after dinner, due to body, mind, and soul fatigue.

This hasn't been helped by the fact that I've had to trade my train ride for a car ride, which has really been a cramp in the daily reading time to which I'd been accustomed. Thankfully, I am slowly being rescued by Julie and Scott at A Good Story is Hard to Find. Listening on my commute is beginning to feel like riding home with lovable, bookish friends. I've enjoyed re-living books and stories I read ages ago, and being reminded of titles that have been long-buried in the depths of my reading list. I'm so glad they do movies too. I finally feel vindicated after all those years of burdening my movie-going friends and siblings with irrepressible post-credit analysis. I foresee that I'll soon be venturing into the exciting world of audiobooks.

Soon, I hope, I'll be able to stop dragging the boulder up the mountain and slide gleefully down the other side.