Of Readers, Used Book Stores, and Mark Twain

Today is the birthday of Samuel Clemens a.k.a. Mark Twain. I confess freely: I have not read everything the great man wrote, but in my own defense, what I have read I have read fifty or sixty times. If I have nothing else to read, I’ll pick up Life on the Mississippi or his autobiography. I have large portions of Huckleberry Finn and Tom Sawyer memorized, not because I wanted to, but because rereading has embedded his marvelous prose in my brain. Maybe I think his genius will rub off on me.

I found a new used bookstore Saturday – one with lots of free parking. In the D.C. area one plans a trip thus: where shall we go? Then: can we park there? What I love about this little bookstore (It’s called Wonder Books, and how they manage to fit so many volumes in so little space is a wonder indeed) is its convenience and free parking. It’s easy to visit, and it’s only when you visit often that you have a chance at the good stuff.

I love used bookstores because they are filled with people who love to read. We talk about the decline of reading in this country, but in this shop the line for the cashier stretched along the counter and half-way down one aisle, and nearly everyone had more than one book. Somebody loves books and somebody is reading. There are more of us than I thought, but we’re all so busy reading we don’t get to know each other.

I wrote last week about the two non-readers who regarded me with “thinly disguised contempt.” Readers, are we embarrassed to be who we are? I believe we should start a movement. We could call it the MVR: Militant Voracious Readers. I think it might work.