The Larval Stage of a Bookworm

I stole the title of this post from the book I'm reading-Happy Days, H.L. Mencken's memoirs of growing up in Baltimore. it's a great book-very funny and slightly acerbic (I expected a bit more acerbity, but as his youth seemed to be quite happy, the lack of it is not surprising). But when I got to the chapter which shares the name of this post, I had to laugh-I've been called a bookworm all my life. I don't remember learning to read-it seemed that one day my sister was reading my favorite Dr Seuss book to me (One Fish Two Fish, which I made her read to me again and again, as she reminds me and which set a pattern followed to this day of reading my favorite books again and again) and the next day I was reading them myself. I always read the newspapers-it amused my Mom and Dad no end that in middle school and high school, I was always up and ready, had eaten breakfast and read the newspaper and was ready to go when my father was (he gave us all rides to school) while my sister and brother were difficult to get out of bed and scrambled to get ready. So what did I read, once I had started? Anything that I could find. I went into my siblings rooms and stole their books-I went into my parents room and stole their books (the cover of an old paperback version of Captain Blood scared me for ages-it wasn't until many years later I found out it was an historical mystery-it looked a something about the Devil or perhaps a vampire and looked way too scary at eight years old. So, I read the Hardy Boys (my brother), Nancy Drew (my sister), Trixie Belden (both of them, I think). Yes, all were mysteries-even then I had no use for plain fiction, I found it boring. And I discovered Poe-reading Poe changed my life. I knew then there were more stories out there like this-that scared me and that I liked it. In 5th grade we had to memorize a poem and recite it to our class and while my classmates chose poems about flowers and trees and nature, I memorized the first stanza of The Raven. I think my teacher was a little surprised by my choice (although she never said anything) but she did seem pleased. (although I think it wasn't too long after this that I had to go see the counselor twice a week and once I got into high school, I wondered what about my behavior had caused the school to send me to counseling? Or was it Poe?).The first book I remember reading all the was through was called The Little Leftover Witch-about a little witch who goes out on Halloween with her aunts-and gets left behind. A local family takes her in (hilarity ensues) until her aunts return to retrieve her. I should surprise no one that I loved this book-but I had a hard time finding others like it, so had to go through the Judy Blume phase-I think that was the only time in my life (the latter part of 5th grade) where I actually read what was expected of me. I liked her books, I read them and I moved on-they were interesting, but bore no resemblance to my life, not really and didn't seem to me to have much to say. Next came Sherlock Holmes-and I found him much more enjoyable. I found his world a bit baffling (what's a brown study? Why does Watson have a wife and then doesn't? How come Holmes died and then doesn't?). It would have helped if I had read them in order-although the question of Watson's wife has baffled better critics than I). I once checked out The Complete Sherlock Holmes out of the local library and kept it...quite awhile. The fine was $15 (and this was the early 70's!). For that much, I thought I should have been able to keep it. When I went to middle school, I had access to a real library. It wasn't like the local library, to which I had to be driven (and in truth, I don't think my parents minded taking me), it was right there, every day. And we had learned how to use the Dewey Decimal system, so now I knew how to look for the books I wanted to read. There were two huge books (at least they were huge to me) full of scary stories, creepy stories. When I went to check both of them out, I remember the librarian telling me she didn't think I could read them both in the time allotted (I don't remember how long I got, probably a week) and I told her of course I could. And what was in them? Great stories-The Upper Berth (still a great story), The Man From the South (hugely inappropriate for a 10 year-old), the Yellow Wallpaper (difficult to understand, but even at that age I knew it creepy). This seemed to set the stage for me-I made a point of searching out books and stories like this. The romances that other girls my age read held no charm for me(except for Mary Stewart and I'm not quite sure why, although there was always an action/adventure thing going on, so that helped). And by the end of middle school, I could read everything parents had-and could understand it. I aways read way ahead of my grade level, so I never fit in with what the other girls were reading. While they had their romances, I had Alistair MacLean, John D. MacDonald and anything I could find on King Arthur.
This is a transcript I had with a friend, circa somewhere around 1977 or so

My friend: I saw this great movie last night! It was about a guy who becomes a king-and then his friend and wife cheat on him-and he has the great sword-it was good.

Me: Was the sword called Excalibur?

My Friend: Yes! How did you know?

Me: (dumbfounded) Everyone knows the story of King Arthur!

My friend tells me that people in my family do this all the time (you don't know about Arthur? EVERYONE knows the story of Arthur! What's wrong with you?) And my friend M asks me all the time "Is that common knowledge?" Me"Yes, it is common knowledge that the North won the Civil War, you should know that". It's not simplistic, That's how things were and are in my family-it was expected that you read and knew about things-King Arthur, Darwin and evolution, what happened in the world today and whether the new John MacDonald book was any good or not (usually it was). I read science fiction for the first time in high school (Ursula K. LeGuin) and was embarrassed to admit I liked it. That lasted until college, when I read Neuromancer and realized I couldn't hide it any more. My taste in books has always baffled my parents but if they ever thought I should be reading something more appropriate, they never said so. The only time they spoke to me about it was when my mother found her copy of Klute in my room (I was 13, it was probably inappropriate for my age but I've always had a hard time telling what's appropriate for an age and what isn't. The only time I ever knew for sure was in discussing The Scold's Bridle by Minette Walters with my sister and my niece said she wanted to read it. She was 10 at the time and even I knew it was inappropriate. I thought it was inappropriate for ME and I was 28! We gave her a copy of Rebecca instead. Daphne Du Maurier was probably the closest I ever got to romance but many of her books had science-fictiony elements in them and the others had far more going for them than your average romance). So there you have it. I loved all those books-and learned something from every single one. They opened a world for me that gave me a place to belong. Books don't change-you may change and find something new in them each time you read and re-read them but th written world has never lost its charm. I recently read an interview with William Gibson, in which he was asked about the death of books on printed paper...and he said "And here I am, out on a book tour...". They haven't died yet-and I have a feeling that one day I'll be a very old woman, complaining that how hard it is to find an actual paper book. I accept that future and embrace it-book lovers are never alone.