Bibliophiles Beware
Bibliophiles of the world, unite! I've always wanted to do that, so please indulge me. Anyway, for the uninitiated, I was borrowing a phrase from the Communist Manifesto by Marx and Engels. It just seemed fitting to do so since the manifesto, like a book, comes under the category of reading material, and bibliophiles just love to read. But of course, this manifesto had an immense impact on human history, as it was the ideological undergird of every communist wannabe state from Cuba to China, not to mention Russia of the iron curtain era.
Anyway, this excuse of a blog entry is about books. I've always loved books, and not just for their ability to transport you to seemingly parallel universes or to another world that you'll never know if not for our glorious writers. I'm also very much taken by how a new book smells, how it feels to the touch and how it promises to deliver a good read. There's so much anticipation wrapped up between the covers of a book, and I suspect an equal amount of disappointment for those who are eventually let down. But I believe that those gems of a read that come one's way make up for the other not-so-good ones that you've to go through in the process. Or perhaps we should be less critical of the normal reads because they still satisfy the desire for a good story, albeit to a much lesser extent than if one were to read a great book.
Sometimes, I wonder if its possible to spend so much time reading that we end up not living our lives. Not that the chance of this happening en masse is high, given that there're many people who don't need all their fingers to count the total number of books they've read. But I'm concerned that those who read consistently and constantly may miss out on seminal moments in their lives. They may feel enriched in their minds, but this is not backed up by actual experiences lived out in the actual world. Life, as we know it, cannot be lived vicariously through reading other peoples' feelings and thoughts. It has to be savoured with all the attendant pleasures and pain, and taken in cautiously or carelessly depending on one's inclination and beliefs.
Anyway, this excuse of a blog entry is about books. I've always loved books, and not just for their ability to transport you to seemingly parallel universes or to another world that you'll never know if not for our glorious writers. I'm also very much taken by how a new book smells, how it feels to the touch and how it promises to deliver a good read. There's so much anticipation wrapped up between the covers of a book, and I suspect an equal amount of disappointment for those who are eventually let down. But I believe that those gems of a read that come one's way make up for the other not-so-good ones that you've to go through in the process. Or perhaps we should be less critical of the normal reads because they still satisfy the desire for a good story, albeit to a much lesser extent than if one were to read a great book.
Sometimes, I wonder if its possible to spend so much time reading that we end up not living our lives. Not that the chance of this happening en masse is high, given that there're many people who don't need all their fingers to count the total number of books they've read. But I'm concerned that those who read consistently and constantly may miss out on seminal moments in their lives. They may feel enriched in their minds, but this is not backed up by actual experiences lived out in the actual world. Life, as we know it, cannot be lived vicariously through reading other peoples' feelings and thoughts. It has to be savoured with all the attendant pleasures and pain, and taken in cautiously or carelessly depending on one's inclination and beliefs.
Comments