Living life, Reflection, The Self

Reading is dangerous

He said, “reading is a dangerous thing”.

And I agree.

He being the owner at a quaint bookstore I decided to venture in on a whim. The store can be characterised as local yet it has been years since I had been inside. Filled with predominantly pre-loved books of different genres and wide topics.

I love bookstores, always fascinated by what I can find.  If I knew the book I wanted, it would have been easy to order online and for it to be delivered to my door. I go into a bookstore to explore what is beyond my experience and my perspectives. And I am rarely disappointed.

Books have been the source of comfort, but most importantly transporting me to unknown places and set me on paths not yet taken. My life is ordinary (in the best sense of the word); as a friend once told me, “pretty conventional” but for a picket fence. Ah, I forget, single motherhood but then that’s almost a norm too.

This time, in that bookstore, is no exception.

Discovering a series of translated writings of Chinese and Japanese authors, my curiosity got the better of me. With books in hand, I approached the checkout only to meet quizzical eyes. He said, “have you read them before?” – them being Japanese authors Yukio Mishima and Ihara Saisaku. Nope. “Quite perverse” he then said, and I couldn’t shake the feeling his comment was a warning and a challenge.

Did I appear to require this warning? It certainly strengthened my resolve to delve into the books 🙂

Books open doors to worlds which I will not have access to.

Reading is an exercise in empathy; an exercise in walking in someone else’s shoes for a while. ~ Malorie Blackman

Books have made me who I am today.

Reading has been dangerous – risky in being exposed to unforeseen content – and in the 13th century usage of the word “dangerous”, to empower me to authority and mastery.

~ FlorenceT

 

© 2021 FlorenceT Copyright reserved. The author asserts her moral and legal rights over this work.

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