Reading to children

I agreed to read to a classroom of children today, Dr. Seuss' birthday. When I arrived at the school, I saw that many volunteers had signed up to read to the littlest kids (K, 1st grade, etc), but none for the older kids (5th graders). So I signed up for 5th grade, being contrary that way, I suppose.

Our reading choices were of course the works of Dr. Seuss. I picked up The 500 Hats of Bartholomew Cubbins.

As I walked down the hallway, I wondered how these sophisticated "big kids" would react to being read a Dr. Seuss book. I had deliberately picked one of greater length and more depth than most of the good doctor's works. I know little children love funny voices, hand gestures, etc, when being read to. But 5th grade? It has been a long time since I was that age, and I have not been blessed with children of my own. So what do I know about the mind of a fifth grader?

I read the book to them, changing my tone for the various characters but not getting overly silly about it. I had fun. I hope they enjoyed it, too.

Pondering e-books

Within my lifetime -- nay, probably within a decade -- ink and paper books could become as antiquated as leather scrolls.

Every day brings more news about electronic books, once a prop of sci-fi novels, now a reality. Borders is studying a plan to take over Barnes and Noble, and e-books are very much a part of the discussion.

It's exciting to think that I could carry around the equivalent of a thousand books or so, in my pocket, ready to whip out and peruse wherever I may be.

But knowing me, I would probably drop the thing in the washing machine or leave it in a meeting hall somewhere. Would my collection transfer to a new e-book machine?

What if some future government decided I had no right to read a certain book? Would it mysteriously vanish from my machine or be blocked from being loaded in the first place? Would Big Brother track my e-book selections to ferret out my seditious leanings?

My kind of book

There is the vast library of ancient literature whose membersI am insanely attempting to read, one by one, over the course of my life.

There is modern fiction, which for the most part does not interest me at all.

But the genre of book that sets me to salivating, that takes a terrible toll on my wallet, that evokes a sad sigh of resignation from my Beloved, eludes categorization. It is history, but something more. It is the concept book, for lack of a better term. It is a great author taking some noun -- some person, place or thing -- and probing carefully and specifically and entertainingly into it, whether the historical ravages of some famous disease like syphillis; the pre-Columbian American world; or the birth of the universe.

I found such a book today that looks SO tasty, so deserving of being read. Please don't tell my Beloved!

http://www.amazon.com/Sacred-Gifts-Profane-Pleasures-Chocolate/dp/0801444934/ref=si3_rdr_bb_product

Library Jackpot

With my five dollar bill in my fist, I pushed through the door of the library tonight and hit the jackpot. Wedged among the worthless romances -- who actually reads those things? -- I found:

The Last Place on Earth, by Roland Huntford --- on Scott and Amundsen's Race to the South Pole.

Remembering CS Lewis -- Recollections of those who knew him.

A Sub Treasury of American Humor, from the 1940s, edited by EB White, the guy who wrote Charlotte's Web.

and Teach Yourself Tagalog.

On a rainy night when I am 167, I shall curl up in a soft chair if my old bones don't snap while doing so, and read these lovely books.

Zinsser the Wise

"In our day, all kinds of people can read. They all have the same ideal of the happy ending of a dull day -- a comfortable couch, a bed lamp, and something to read.

"And there must, in consequence, be writers to supply this need -- literature for the intelligent as for the moron -- a book for every brain, like a motor car for every purse."

-- Hans Zinsser, Rats, Lice and History.

To Savor or to Study?

How do you read?

Is a book to you the paper-and-ink equivalent of a glass of wine -- drunk down, enjoyed briefly and then forgotten?

Over the last few years, I've established a routine for myself that probably betrays a lack of sanity on my part. I keep a notebook at hand and as I read this book or that, I scribble down details, pithy quotes, etc.

But just as there's something sad about the professional biologist who counts petals, sepals and stamens, who assidiously notes pubescence, leaf structure and growth habit -- and finds himself unable to simply enjoy the flower the way any innocent child would ...

... So I recognize now the problem in my reading plan.

It's great to have notes at hand, to be able to remind myself of plot lines and witticisms, to have actual evidence of having read a certain book. No more do I shut a book at the end of a long read and realize that I remember only the vaguest details of my journey through it.

But great literature is also meant to be savored. Great writers have a flow to their sentences, a rhythm to their chapters. And each time that I stop to scribble a note, it's as if I'm putting the orchestra on hold in the middle of a performance in order to note that b-sharp predominated in this movement, followed by an aria.

Last night, I read Book Two of Ovid's "Art of Love." I resisted interrupting myself and coasted along on the sheer poetry. I therefore have no notes on these passages and can tell the world and myself only that I enjoyed them.