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I remembered a book I read when I was around ten years old, but I could not remember its title. It was about an animal, a fox, I thought, and I loved the story. The author, as well as any other identifying characteristics, were buried deep in my subconscious, underneath an accumulation of years and other books. I tried to dredge up those particulars, but they were buried too deep, and I finally gave up on having the pleasure of reading it again.
Fast forward a few years.
My older brother and I were talking on the phone, and he mentioned a book he read growing up. He told me he liked it so much that years later, when he worked at a job and had money to spend, he went to a bookstore and bought the paperback. He said the book was in his attic and that he needed to find it.
A couple of days later, he told me he had retrieved the book from the attic and was reading it again. He was already on page eighty-six.
I found this most interesting, because my brother and I never talk books. Reading for him is becoming cumbersome, as his eyesight is failing, so I never bring up the subject of books.
After our conversation, I remembered the book I read as a child, and it dawned on me that it had to be the same one my brother read. He probably brought it home from the school library, and I picked it up and read it.
I ordered a copy right away, and Haunt Fox by Jim Kjelgaard arrived in my mailbox about a week later.
I started reading, and I wanted to fly through the chapters, especially the last few. I am sure it's the same book I read many years ago. A good book never leaves you. The title may fade and the author's name may be out of reach, but the feeling it gave you stays with you forever.
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How true, Mary, how books, like people, leave you with a feeling. Your observations resonate, leading me to think about my favorite book from my youth. It came into my hands a tad later than yours. A friend of my cousin, who was four years older than I, gave me “The Little Prince.” I cherish it to this day. The narrator draws a picture of a boa that has swallowed an elephant. When adults look at it, they see only a hat, so the boy draws a second image that outlines the elephant inside the boa. What I love best is how the narrator, once grown up, keeps this drawing and, from time to time, takes it out of his pocket to show it to a new acquaintance. Invariably, most only see a hat.
ReplyDeleteBooks like yours and “The Little Prince” open our hearts to imagination’s power—its ability to see beyond the surface and discover treasures we’d otherwise ignore. These gifts may be tiny, like a child’s drawing of a boa that swallowed an elephant, but they remain tucked into our hearts, prodding us to believe and wonder at the magic of what may be.
How special that a book can touch one's heart in such a way, it is never forgotten. That is the power of the written word. And whether we are readers or writers or both, we could all use a little magic in our lives. Your thoughtful comment is much appreciated. I must add "The Little Prince" to my reading list.
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