There are books that are much more than what they tell, because they are linked to an emotion that can be the memory of when or where you read them or who got you to know them.
This book is part of a series written by a British veterinary surgeon, under the name of James Herriot, which tells about his personal and professional life in Yorkshire, starting before the Second World War.
His books were among my father’s favorite. My father died more than 30 years ago, but every time I read them it feels like he’s still here with me, laughing about the episodes that, even though we had read them many times, we kept on telling each another. Too bad that time did not last long.
Some might judge them as easy, simple or assess the style as not so exciting, but I wonder if books can be really the object of literary criticism.
When a book is written with feeling, heart, passion, suffering, and not just in order to sell, it cannot be nothing but a writer’s masterpiece.
Then the reader make what he wants of it.
A book is what you make it to be.
A book may be the masterpiece of your life at a time and let you down in another moment.
A book can be boring the first time and encourage unexpected reflections if you re-read it.
A book creates a unique relationship with the reader.
Books are living emotions.
Sometimes I read a book in just one day, sometimes it takes months to read another one. I am sure that, with a little attention, it would be interesting and useful to understand why…
In schools there is always less reading and more working with computers, I do not know why.
Children are no longer interested in reading. After the period of colorful books full of figures there is no longer the transition to independent reading, when one begins to understand her/his own tastes, chooses the titles, and most of all starts travelling with her/his imagination.
Maybe I am old-fashioned, but for me this means closing the door to a world of emotions that could be with you throughout your life.
A book really keeps company.