The very first book I finished in 2024 was a very apt selection: for several reasons, January is a month of reflection for me. Not only is it the beginning of a new year, but it is also my birthday month. 2024 also has the distinction of being the year I turned 40 – an age that I find particularly scary – so I imagine that Iāve been feeling especially pensive about my reading history lately.
The first book I finished this year was Dear Reader: The Comfort and Joy of Books by Cathy Rentzenbrink.
In her book, Rentzenbrink discussed the influence reading has had on her life from her days in school through her years as a bookseller to her years as a blogger and writer. I think reading can have a major impact on someoneās life, and Rentzenbrink is no exception to that rule. Rentzenbrinkās relationship with reading seems to have been positive, but sadly, not everyone had a positive experience with reading.
For some people, reading doesnāt have the positive connotations that it has for Rentzenbrink. Some have had a traumatic experience related to reading that has caused them to eschew books.
One chapter of Dear Reader that stood out to me was the one where Rentzenbrink discussed the time she visited a prison to celebrate the inmates who had managed to read six books. Rentzenbrink thought it was odd how happy the inmates were when they received their certificates, For someone like Rentzenbrink, who reads a lot – and has read a lot for most of her life – reading six books feels like no big deal. After all, Rentzenbrink had been rewarded for her reading skills from a young age.
It wasnāt until later that Rentzenbrink realized that the inmates in question had not been rewarded in the ways she had when they were children. In fact, many of the inmates have traumatic experiences connected to reading. This opened Rentzenbrinkās eyes and helped her understand what the inmates were feeling.
While Iāve (thankfully) never been in prison, reading (or in my case listening since I listened to the audiobook) Dear Reader made me feel sad about my own reading journey. I donāt want to equate my own experiences with the experiences of the inmates Rentzenbrink met, because I realize that in the grand scheme of things I have been really lucky. But I also want to take a moment to share my story.
Letās back up and talk a bit about me. I grew up in a household where definitely books, but I wouldnāt necessarily describe my parents as readers. At least not in the way you might think. My mom read to my siblings and I when we were young, but I sense this was more because she thought thatās what āgood mothersā were supposed to do – not because it was something she enjoyed doing. Once my siblings and I were old enough to read on our own, my mom stopped reading to us and I donāt recall ever seeing her read on her own unless she absolutely had to.
My dad on the other hand – what can I say about him? You know how some people say that buying books and reading books are two different hobbies? If thereās any truth to this, my dad fits the first category. Throughout my life, Iāve seen my dad buy book after book, mostly about European history. But Iāve rarely seen him read any of those books – certainly not cover to cover. At most, Iād see him read a chapter or two before returning it to the shelf. At first I thought āhe must be super busy with work. He probably doesnāt have the time to read as much as heād like.ā But then he retired and I still donāt see him reading whole books from cover to cover. He still buys them, though. These days, most of the reading I see him do are in the form of scholarly articles and book reviews. The reading of book reviews about books he never ultimately reads is odd to me. Itās not that I think thereās anything wrong with reading book reviews, but Iāve never seem him read any of the books he reads reviews about. Itās one thing to use book reviews to help him decide what to read, but he literally never reads any of the books he reads reviews about (surely he must read at least some book reviews that make the book sound appealing?) Itās almost as if he wants other people to tell him what his opinion of books should be rather than reading them himself and forming his own opinions.
So I grew up in a book full of books, but not a lot of actual reading seemed to happen. I once joked that when the apocalypse happens, weāll at least have something to burn for heat and light.
As a child, I loved to read. Or rather, when I first learned to read, I thought it was the best thing ever. My parents thankfully supported my habit, and up through third grade, I was encouraged by teachers as well.
When I hit fourth grade, I started a new school. This new school was supposed to be a better school than my previous one. I really wanted to impress my new teachers and classmates with how smart I was. And because Iām also a major people pleaser, I wanted to make my parents proud of me.
To my dismay, the reading teacher at my new school hated the books I wanted to read (mostly The Baby-Sitterās Club, the criticism was that the books were ghostwritten). When Rentzenbrink had people criticize the books she enjoyed, she was able to shake it off – other peopleās opinions didnāt deter her.
Unfortunately, I wasnāt that kind of kid. At the time, what I heard was that I wasnāt smart enough, or good enough to go toe-to-toe with my classmates. All because of what I liked to read. I was heartbroken and for many years, I struggled to enjoy reading. In fact, I distinctly remember a time when I was a teenager when my mom said to me āhey, remember when you used to like to read?ā
Dear Reader by Cathy Rentzenbrink made me sad in that Rentzenbrink was the kid that I wish I had been: able to enjoy reading whatever she wanted and didnāt let the opinions of others get to her.
As Iāve gotten older, Iāve been trying to recapture the love of reading that I had when I was young. I go through bouts where Iām almost there but then I go through periods where I struggle to stay motivated. Maybe this cycle is what I can expect for the rest of my adult life.
One of the things Iāll say is that I seem to have inherited my dadās book-buying addiction. I find being surrounded by books to be comforting. Like when the mood to read strikes me, I have a lot of good options. I recognize that being able to buy so many books is a privilege.
Unlike my dad, however, I do hope to actually read all the books I buy eventually.
I think one of the reasons I started a reading journal and a book blog is because I want to find my way back to reading and wanted to document my journey.
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