Come on baby, light my fire ….

Since the dawn of time, humans have loved story telling.

Long dark winters around the camp fire were perfect for reliving exciting hunting expeditions among the fairly small family units. As we travelled, speech changed and evolved, which was enough for conversing within our local community, but how could man inform his brother – who lived some way off – just how big the fish was he caught? Some other way of information, a more permanent record was required. Cave paintings, followed by stone etchings were all well and good but drawing a hunting scene took a lot of time, what about using symbols, something others would understand? As we travelled we wanted a record of our stories to take with us. Carrying stone around was not really a good idea with all the other paraphernalia one needed on a journey so this lead to the use of animal skin, parchment, papyrus and paper to record our stories. Books have been with us for hundreds of years, recording and passing on to successive generations our stories, our lives.

I am a book worm. Since pre-school I have loved the written word. My mum states I was chanting nursery rhymes at 18 months and I do remember being able to read before starting school at the age of 4. I devoured anything I could lay my hands on. My mum’s cookery books, my dad’s newspaper, my granddad’s beautiful book of the living world (which I still have to this day) and even the Bible at the age of 7 was attempted. Going down the paper shop on a Sunday morning for dad was something to look forward to for that was the day I could buy a comic, usually Bunty, and the Shoot comic for my brother was grabbed as soon as he had discarded it and read from cover to cover. When dad was out I would sneakily read his current book, always a gruesome factual murder!

As I grew older, about 9 or 10, my friends and I would play outside but whereas wet summers meant hours of tedium for some, as a bookworm I was delighted. I was lucky enough that Chatham library was situated on the New Road, near the Luton Arches, long since demolished and moving to another location near the Riverside in the early 1970’s, but in the 1960’s I would often visit several times a day to change the maximum four books we were permitted to take out. I loved the rows of books, the excitement of finding something good to get my nose into, the ritual removal of the little inserted piece of cardboard (later plastic) and the sound of the date stamp clunking onto the paper just inside the front cover. I was transported into the world of The Secret Seven, The Famous Five, The Naughtiest Girl in the School and all the beautiful pictures and diagrams dotted throughout the books. Some books had an extra shiny page scattered throughout the book with coloured prints. In my early teens I fell in love with Agatha Christie’s work and over the years have collected them all. I have read and re-read her novels and plays several times; there is something comforting in settling down, reading about a gruesome murder and knowing all will be well in the end.

At the age of 15, I passed my ‘O’ level in Greek Literature in Translation having thoroughly enjoyed Homer’s The Odyssey. It was at that time too that Brighton Rock by Graham Greene was given to read as part of our curriculum and despite the thousands of books I have read since then it is still my favourite.

Books for me are so much more than actual written words. The feel of a book, the sound of the paper rustling, the reverence I feel when I open an ancient creaking tome, the weight and solidity, the cover illustration and best of all the smell of an old paperback. The aroma too of a second hand book shop, all sound absorbed by the rows of dusty books and the affinity you feel with an interested shop keeper. I had to take early retirement a couple of years ago but my dream job would be working in a second hand book shop. To catalogue dusty old novels, out of date DIY books, manuals for cars that are long since gone and musty esoteric pamphlets would give me immense satisfaction.

I am the first to admit that although I have a modicum knowledge of technology (I can find my way around a computer, have an email address and even a mobile phone) I fail to understand why a gadget is invented just because it can be and marketed as a “must have”. I have a good supply of audio tapes and a personal stereo that have accompanied me through many walks. When arriving at my destination I turn the tape player off and the tape sits there all ready for me to continue listening. Why then would I want a CD player that when I turned it off would reset itself and I have to wade all through the disc to find where I had left off? The same with videos /DVD’s; stop a video, come back to it, push the button and off you go. Stop a DVD and once again wade through all the advertising, scene selection etc to get back into the film. To cut costs at work staff were encouraged to use electronic diaries instead of traditional diaries. However access to the computer was denied to all but the user, ergo, if I was out of the office or on holiday my Consultant was unable to find out what appointments he had that day. I stuck to the paper version; flicking back through a paper diary, making additional notes, pencilling a temporary entry, leaving a message, seeing future dates etc were all a lot quicker than wading through the electronic version and much more user friendly.

This brings me nicely to…the ebook! The definition of Kindle is “to light or set on fire” or “arouse or inspire”, which I find sadly lacking but I will be fair and list its good points:

1. Easy to transport

2. If, like me, you take several paperbacks on holiday its weight is considerably less

3. You can store 88,000.00 titles

4. I have arthritis in my hands and not to hold the weight of a book and keep the pages open would be a lot less painful

Having listed the above, I find myself still championing the paper book. Books have soul, books have a history. I love wondering who first owned a second hand gem I may find at a car boot sale, who Aunt Mabel was who wrote the inscription to Dear Eric in December 1966 and what she thought when she purchased it for her nephew. Was it a book that Eric would have really treasured or was it just an impulse buy having run out of ideas for his Christmas present? I like finding forgotten bookmarks ranging from foreign postcards to till receipts. I love the covers with lurid pictures depicting horrific crimes or square jawed men and swooning big bosomed women and the excitement I feel when I come across an old orange Penguin publication with 2/6 in the corner. I love the anticipation of knowing a present is a carefully wrapped book that a friend or relative has gone to some trouble to track down. I have several childhood books with inscriptions from granny and granddad, long since dead but somehow still with me in the ink sentiment inside the cover. I take great care with my books and losing one is like losing a friend, but for a few pound they can be replaced. Mislaying an ebook would be expensive. The warmth of a sleepy child sitting on your lap while you read to them before bed is a much loved and treasured memory from the otherwise hectic life of being mum to four children. They enjoyed the pictures and looked forward to the ritual of choosing a book from the shelf. Where would be the pleasure of staring at a screen with them?

I am all for progress and computer technology has moved along at a significant rate over the past couple of decades. We have mobile phones that I wouldn’t have a clue how to turn on much less operate but I don’t feel the poorer for not knowing. I will stick to my much loved paper books and will get as much pleasure from them as I am sure others get from their laptop or Kindle. They don’t inspire me and they don’t light my fire.

Written by: Janey Lowrey