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.

All People Need People, not Just the Lucky Ones

I have been told that a lady’s name appears in the news three times: when she is born, when she is married, and when she dies. I would add, in these enlightened times – when she has made an accomplishment.

Michaele (who can’t spell her own name) and her husband Tareq, the Salahis, were the couple who crashed the White House state dinner in order to become reality TV stars. The newspaper said she was a “glamorous blonde.” I see a very ordinary looking woman, who, even after spending seven hours in a posh Georgetown salon, still looks ordinary – not even pretty.

Am I envious? Hardly. I’m appalled. These two are just like the trashy people on Jerry Springer. And Larry King, the trash-chasing guy with the suspenders, will interview them.

When is America going to tire of people like this? Why do we gobble this stuff up?

I believe these reality dramas have replaced gossip. In order to gossip, you have to know someone to talk about and have someone to talk to. Reality TV replaces real people talking about mutual acquaintances. Gossip is not the right word here: it has negative connotations. I’m talking about conversations people have about each other; human beings are endlessly interesting.

The late Jack Finney, the author of Invasion of the Body Snatchers, wrote a story “Of Missing Persons.” In this fantasy, the mission people go to a beautiful earth-like planet where people gather for coffee every morning before work and make their own entertainment.

These people did not need reality TV. They had reality. It’s much better.