The Lost Art Of Recommending Books
I was the stricken the other day, when quizzed upon about the books that I’ve come to love. Stricken, not only on mere thoughts surrounding these works of art, but on the thought that one person’s favourite novel will not necessarily be another’s. It seems a melancholic thought to me. That somehow, some people will never understand the rare feeling that a favourite piece of literature creates.
My favourite is John Williams’ Stoner. It’s a remarkable story about an unremarkable man. Profound, real, and beautiful, its inferred life lessons may help you to realise that although you are small, you can be a person of quiet wonder.
I recall fondly how this book made me feel as I wandered (quite aimlessly, I might add) through the Australian outback. There, where the night sky is peppered with stars, where existence feels prehistoric amongst the old trees and the dry grass. Dusty hillocks kick up the land and the desert is a waste before all except nature. I feel a sense of tragedy in knowing that others who read Stoner will do so under different circumstances. Might they feel the same way that I did? A lost twenty-three year old with nothing but the world at his feet and a pack on his back. I ended up leaving my copy in a train carriage, a hastily scrawled recommendation inside the front cover, and my departure from the wilderness complete:
This is the most beautiful story I’ve ever read. It has changed me. It might change you.
~ Sam, 2017.
As I stare at my whitewash ceiling now, I wonder if anyone ever collected my copy and read my little note. I wonder this, at ten thirty three in the evening, copy of Shantaram open in front of me, a recommendation from a friend.
Maybe someone found my book. Maybe they thought “I’ll give this a crack”, or maybe they didn’t. In any case, my simple thought now is that I might inspire you to pick up a book of your own. Whether or not it is that you read it in a time that ends up significant, or insignificant, doesn’t matter. There is joy in reading books. To be with one is to relax. It is to enter a new realm. One that is real and one that is fake. A book is a door. A door to a world that lies within your very mind. A place where the imagination roams, and colours are vivid. And afterward, when the reading is over, we might regale others with their tales too. Or, we simply tell them they must pick up the tale for themselves.
Time reading is seldom time wasted. It’s just sometimes a little hard for your recommendation to get through. Don’t ever let it get lost.
— Samuel Hodges, February 2021
