From whence cometh this? " I wants to make your flesh creep."
I began reading sometime during the '40's of the last century, and despite television, the movies, etc., I've not found a way to stop. I'm an omnivore, grazing through the pastures of fiction, history, militaria, foreign languages, essays, nature, photography, drama, biography,...
more »From whence cometh this? " I wants to make your flesh creep."
I began reading sometime during the '40's of the last century, and despite television, the movies, etc., I've not found a way to stop. I'm an omnivore, grazing through the pastures of fiction, history, militaria, foreign languages, essays, nature, photography, drama, biography, poetry, technical writing, children's literature, travel, mystery,philosophy, theology, astronomy, anthropology, and art. I miss departed family and friends who constantly filled my hands with new and exciting material to read, and who, because of their kindness and generosity, live on in my memory. Every time I revisit Robert Graves I'm reminded of my father's love for that author; when I pick up a Costain I recall an aunt who read everything she could get her hands on in the South Carolina Piedmont; I can't open a Paul Tillich without remembering several ministers and teachers who had great hopes (some realized, some not) for my development as a human being. I miss the great bookstores of the last century: the Argosy, Francis Edwards, Aldredge's, Barber's, to name but a very few. I miss the old bookdealers in Nuremburg, Berlin, London, New York, New Orleans, Denver, Minneapolis, Detroit, Atlanta, Spartanburg, Columbia, Oxford, Birmingham, Jackson, Vienna, Venice, Rome, Chicago, Washington, Hamburg, Paris, Frankfurt, San Francisco, Seattle, Salzburg, Santa Fe, Dallas, Boston, Cambridge, Austin, San Antonio, Fredericksburg, Kerrville, Houston, El Paso. They were all quiet and welcoming homes scattered around the world where one could lose himself, not to mention time and everyone else. There was no Amazon, no Borders, no Barnes & Noble, no sameness of literary diet. Every dealer. every bookstore was unique. Each had its own peculiar collection of marvels and wonders. Where are they now? Most are long gone from this planet. Most died in lonely dark neglect as the modern world rushed on seeking similarity and simplicity in its entertainments. In that old world, one could find kindred spirits and fellow madmen at those places, with fresh feasts set out daily for our consumption. Thank goodness for something like Shelfari to make a stab at reuniting that spirit of a reading community.
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