Books are magic
“Books are a uniquely portable magic.” ~Stephen King
My dog, Phin, and I were enjoying the gorgeous Fall weather on our tree-lined block in Brooklyn, the sweet scent of dried leaves in the air. He’s an old man now — 14 last month — and he doesn’t move as well as he used to.
A young girl was walking toward us, her nose deep in a book — A Wrinkle in Time. I picked up Phin from his sunny spot in the middle of the sidewalk so he wouldn’t be in her way. Her mother walked a few paces behind her and saw me move Phin of her daughter’s way. The girl passed us without taking any notice.
“I’m so sorry,” her mother aid to me. “When she’s reading she’s in another world.”
I smiled. “No apologies needed. I’m the same way,” I said.
That’s the magic of fiction. As a reader and author, books have carried me away to fantastical places. The characters have become my friends and traveling companions. Their adventures are as real to me as my own in this physical world.
When I finally look up from reading or writing, I’ve lost all track of time. After having been on a book’s journey, my own world looks and feels different. I feel different. Books change us, and our perspective.
Books are sense-making devices. When I don’t know how I feel about something, I read and write. In those acts, things become a little bit clearer. 26 letters arranged in countless ways to create portals across time and space, conveying emotions, sharing thoughts and experiences, connecting us to each other, attempting to make meaning of the messiness of life. There is no more magical invention than a book.