My Strange Relationship With Books

My Strange Relationship With Books

“I like to say that books found me, that my otherworldly teacher came to me clothed with words that I could decrypt and understand.”

I did not start to write stories, poems, or any other type of non-fiction at a very young age, but I read a lot since I knew how to read. I was naturally attracted to books, magazines, newspapers, encyclopaedias, and dictionaries. Also, almost everyone at home loved reading books (I was raised in a matriarchal family — now you know why I mostly write about strong female characters). I remember that there were always books and magazines in every corner of our home, while my grandmother and my mother always gave me books to read — of all sorts and dimensions, mainly historical and tales.

Though I come from a very modest and wild-ish background, I don’t know how, and I don’t know why, but I had the privilege to read fascinating fiction, as well as teachable, philosophical, and historical books, which naturally grew my curiosity about existence, and deepened my want to know the world more profoundly. I like to say that books found me, that my otherworldly teacher came to me clothed with words that I could decrypt and understand — the art of personal divination, bibliomancy; books, that were getaways through which I could get the necessary inspiration for me to blossom and grow, and wells of information from which I drank to quench my thirst.

“Books that triggered strong emotions within me are now micro movies that are archived in my memory.”

I’ve read so many books, that all of these words and sentences that now dwell in my imagination could automatically generate a new universe. But sadly, I never remember the author’s name, nor the titles of books, but most stories that made a deep impact on my mind grew roots within me, which are still deeply ingrained in that learning part of my brain that processes logic and reasoning. As I read, I think that the intellectual connection takes place in my mind when my subconscious recognises elements of truth, and the design of the real intent of hearts… scientific, or esoteric? I think that it doesn’t matter on the grand scale, but it does matter for me as an author, thus, I try as much as possible to communicate my intent as genuinely as possible, so that my stories might be pattern that are recognised by the subconscious of a reader, which are important elements of INFORMATION processed by reason and logic… yes, I really want my books to be sold, and my blog to be read😂… thus, I’m determined to learn whatever there is to learn about the craft of writing and reading, to analyse and inspect and dissect🧐, everything, that will serve me on my authorpreneur journey. 

“Sometimes when I read the emotional connection is so strong that I get to the point where I really think that this thing really exists, that the fictional world that the author made up is real.”

In Darcocyte, the first time that I introduce Tephra to readers, she is poorly dressed, and carries a doll, which is a reminiscent of the book character Cosette, from les misérables, written by Victor Hugo, where I’ve read an illustrated copy of the story of cosette when I was about 8. Books that triggered strong emotions within me are now micro movies that are archived in my memory… strange that I don’t recall some of my years, yet, remember stories that I’ve read in books. Sometimes when I read the emotional connection is so strong that I get to the point where I really think that this thing really exists, that the fictional world that the author made up is real — well-written fictional books and their neat prose always make me forget that I’m actually reading a made-up story, and it goes the same way for stories written in first person… these type of stories always get me, they thrill me in unexpected ways. Thus when I edit my writings I always try to be first and foremost a reader who tries as much as possible to be excited by what I myself writes… the story first, afterwards grammar and syntax (thing that I’ve only recently learned while learning editing).

The last book that captivated and seduced me to the point that I devoured it in three days with keen interest, for its prose was perfect, clear, neat, convincing and precise, a composition that flows like a limpid river (the writing dream style of almost every writer), and without any pause to give time to the reader to read in between the lines, was the book origin by Dan Brown — a story that hooked me from the beginning till the end (though the end left me in an insatiable state). Because of that book I fell in love with all of the places described in the story, places which I hope one day I’ll be able to visit, because, why not. That’s why I love historical fiction, if done well, a certain type of magic operates in the head of the reader, just like it happened for me while reading my favourite historical fiction The clan of the cave bear by Jean M.Auel; and next on my list of books that I want to read is the “Wolf Hall” trilogy by Hilary Mantel, a historical fiction that takes place in the time of king Henry VIII.

“Reading books has expanded my horizon in unbelievable ways.”

I am convinced that having read all of these books from an early age has helped me excelled in subjects like English, French, and Geography, while forging, flexing, shaking, moulding, and rewiring my whole brain, which created new pathways to understanding, growth, and higher-thoughts. Reading books has expanded my horizon in unbelievable ways; I’ve learned so much about the intricacies of life and the essence of existence… so many of my questions have been answered through books, like how towns become cities, and what makes great Kings and Queens and leaders, of goodness and kindness, of everything that I don’t want to be, and of everything that I want to be, the importance of making that right choice, and that living life to your fullest potential is the key to everlasting happiness. Books have been, and will always be my teacher — this guiding light in the cold lonesome dark of ignorance.

I don’t have many books in my little bookcase, that’s because my own mind contains the multitude of stories, poems, and other essays that I’ve assimilated over time, and where they’ve flown back to libraries or to their owners, while others were lost along the way. But those stories and lines and lessons are all there in my head, deeply engraved in my subconscious, and whenever I need answers when I write, all I have to do is remember the lessons learned through books.

At school, I did well in all subjects, except in Maths. My mind couldn’t well assess mathematical language, my logic failed all the time. I think that I have mathematical dyslexia (dyscalculia), for who can be that stupid with numbers😂. Is it possible that reading too much since a very young age caused an imbalance in my mind? Who knows! I think that scientists should do some research on the subject.

At college I did literature, took part in their theatre and elocution classes, while I devoured almost all of the books that filled the shelves of their library, which was in a semi-darkened room of an old colonial house that doesn’t exist anymore, else I would have shown you the photo of my ancient college — a mystically beautiful creole-house in the eternal gloomy and cold embrace of Curepipe. Moreover, it was there that my teenage self discovered and fell in love with Pike, Vincent Vox Prométhée de l’ombre, the famous five, the weird tale collection of Oscar Wilde, Shakespeare’s sonnets, and so much more, especially Mauritian writers. I cried at the end of The Birthday of the Infanta and The Nightingale and the Rose, but I was also very sad for The Happy Prince… I’ve learned the meaning of empathy and goodness, of the importance of being reasonable, and that real people can also die of a broken heart.

“Reading poetry is a pure aesthetic experience, it inspires me to find the beautiful side of things in everything and everyone; a poem is an evocative art-form that shakes and stirs my interior world.”

When I discovered poetry in my teenage years, it was as if I had found precious everlasting bright gems of all sorts; poems were a beautiful and unique find. Suddenly I didn’t have to read a whole book from start to finish to know the story, though details and dialogues in fictional books captivate me, but I could read the compressed form of a thought, opinion, dialogue, and story in the form of a poem whose lines resonated as songs in my mind. 

To me poems are songs without music in the background, they sing to me as I read, and I feel wings growing on my back to fly away as I read an attractive poem. Some of these immediate thoughts and feelings incarnated in words are so palpable, so lively, and so close, that my heart melt, and my mind wanders away, subjugated, fascinated, totally mad about these sentences that convey sentiments and internal phantasm… indeed, the artistic side of the literary world thrills me to the extreme.

Reading poetry is a pure aesthetic experience, it inspires me to find the beautiful side of things in everything and everyone; a poem is an evocative art-form that shakes and stirs my interior world… my heart and my mind loves its gentle touch that summons ethereal emotions. Some poems, if well composed, can instantly make me change my mind about the world, life, inspiring me to see the world through a more positive lens, to embrace things more profoundly, like for example, to take a simple glass, observe it, and to find what makes it something unique, something to appreciate, while my mind wanders far away in the past, till the time of its conception. Reading poetry helps me to stay down to earth, for by reading what a poet or poetess truly sees behind their eyes, their personal take on things, and the way they relate consciously, or even unconsciously to other people and their life, is so wonderful; to have that proximity with another thought and heart than yours is such a unique experience, which is a type of intimacy that only happens when two bodies are loving each other. When you read poems you hear the beating of their heart in each lines they offer you… and it’s simply beautiful to be so clothed, yet so naked on a page, on a screen, in your heart.

I just hope that reading books becomes the cup of tea of everyone, because it’s a fantastic mindscapism, filled with surprises, twists, wonderments, and life lessons; and perhaps, in the midst of a terrible darkness, while reading, or even re-reading a book, you’ll find a bright and shiny hidden gem that will enlighten your mind and your life.

7 responses to “My Strange Relationship With Books”

  1. I am sure books taught you more than anyone or anything Eiravel, isn’t it?? I am also an avid reader and loooove to sit in a library with my nose in a book…. 😄

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