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Go on – admit it! You’re an addict

By June 25, 2016Guest Blogs

Go on – admit it! You’re an addict – A guest blog by Philip L Meers

I’ve heard, about meetings of Alcoholics Anonymous, that the first thing you do is admit that you have a problem. I don’t know if that is true, but, assuming that it is true, here goes – a meeting of BA…

“Hi. My name is Philip and I’m an addict.”

Nope. Does nothing for me. I don’t feel as if I’ve admitted that I have a problem. I guess I need to give some details…

I’ve had the addiction as long as I can remember. It’s totally consumed my life.

Hmmm! Yes, well that’s why it’s called an addiction! Doh!

Sometimes I get sweaty hands, my heart beats faster and there is a pounding in my head. My brain is telling me not to do it. My heart is telling me that just one more won’t hurt, it’s only one, it’s only small.

I stand there, rooted to the spot. Beads of sweat appear on my forehead. My mouth goes dry. I can’t take my eyes off it – just one more and then I’ll stop. It’s only one after all.

 

“So I do it. Just the one. Holding it in my hand. Savouring the moment. The anticipation builds. Yet again I’ve failed to control myself. It looks so good. The smell is wonderful.

“I try to put it down, I really do. I tell myself I don’t need it. I know that if I succumb now, well, it just won’t stop at one. There will be another, and another.



“I know that I should stop, but this thing is just bigger than I am. I lick my lips. I take a deep breath. The struggle is almost over. Go on, you know you want to. The devil in me just won’t let go. I know I’ll regret this tomorrow. Why won’t somebody help me?

“I raise it nearer my nose and smell the delicious aroma. A smile plays across my lips. I’ve lost again. Turning slowly I utter the fatal words “Excuse me, but do you have this in hardback?” There! It’s done, another book to find room for.”

If there isn’t already a Bookworms Anonymous, feel free to start one, but to be honest, I’m not sure there would be many members. Hands up anyone who thinks books are a problem… As I thought, one sad case who is obviously having issues.

 

I love reading. I love books. I am addicted, and I’m sure that I am not alone in this. As I write 767,170 have liked For Reading Addicts on Facebook, so I am certainly not alone. When I was invited to submit a guest blog, I was told by Shan to find a literary topic to wax lyrical about. Well Shan, that’s easy to say, but, well, after the warm glow of being flattered had worn off, I was totally lost. There is so much to write about, and like a child in the proverbial sweetie shop I had no idea what to grab first.

Then, I thought about the group name ‘For Reading Addicts’ and realised that there was my starting point. If you are reading this, you’ve already admitted that you are an addict. It’s probably the only thing you, dear reader, and I have in common, but goodness, what a thing it is. Looking at the profiles of those who have submitted comments shows what a disparate group of people we are, and yet one simple thing ties us together, a love of reading.

There are also many of us united in our love of books. “What?” I hear some of you cry, “Surely that is the same thing?” Sometimes it is easy for a bibliophile, and more especially a bibliomane (thank you For Reading Addicts, you taught me about the latter), to forget that not every reader is in love with the book. Some of you out there, and you know who you are, crack spines, fold corners and generally give grief to those of us who are bibliophiles. I forgive you, just, well almost, because I pity you for not knowing the true love and joy that a book can bring (actually, I lied, I don’t forgive you, I want to tear you limb from limb and bury you at a crossroads with a stake through your heart so that you can never harm another book). However unpalatable, those of us who are book addicts sometimes just have to bury our noses deeper into our books and ignore the disturbing facts that some do not love books.



So, finally, I get to my ‘literary topic’ – you must forgive me, I am a retired teacher, which means I’m incapable of getting to the point straight away. I am, and always will be, an unrepentant reading addict. I cannot remember a time when I couldn’t read. However, I can remember a time when books were something I liked, but only because I liked reading. How did I add to my addiction by becoming first a bibliophile and then a bibliomane? How do my experiences link me to other book addicts?

As I wrote earlier, I have to thank For Reading Addicts for introducing me to the word ‘bibliomane’. Up to that point I had never had a word to describe how I feel about books. ‘Bookworm’ was too simplistic – just having my head in a book all the time was not enough to describe the sensations that I feel touching a book. Bookworm is more for the reading addict, and I have gone beyond that. ‘Bibliophile’ was better, obviously, I have a love of books, but somehow the definition suggested control (“No. I won’t explain that. Get a dictionary from the front of the room!” – sorry, I reverted to teacher mode for a moment). A favourite of mine, Lord Peter Wimsey, the delightful character created by Dorothy L Sayers, is supremely controlled in his collecting, and his library is a reflection of his interests. His books are nearly all bound alike and sit neatly on the shelves of his Piccadilly flat – clearly the man is a control freak. However, until For Reading Addicts introduced me to ‘bibliomania’ my condition went unnamed, unless ‘untidy’, ‘a bit of a mess’ or even ‘WTF’ count. Now I know that the demon has a name. My large collection of books (6,000 at the last count, and please don’t ask how many I’ve bought since) occupies shelves in all but the bathroom and utility room. Books are squeezed into every last inch. Some are in cupboards, under a table, in boxes, and…well, I’m sure that you get the picture. I am, without a doubt, and proud to admit, a ‘bibliomaniac’ first, last and always. Where are you on the spectrum – controlled collector or maniac?

So how did it all start? I wonder how alike our experiences are? Judging by the number of likes that photographs of libraries get on For Reading Addicts, there are a lot of you who get pleasure from biblioporn (not, unfortunately a word I invented). Admit it – you sit there open mouthed, possibly drooling, lusting after acres of shelf covered with miles of books. You imagine yourself sinking sensuously into the enfolding arms of a luxuriously upholstered chair, a drink to hand. You reach out and pick up your current volume. You balance it in your hand. It feels good. Perhaps, before opening it, you lovingly stroke the cover (biblioforeplay?). Then you settle down and the world vanishes as you immerse yourself in your own little Shangri-la.

If you recognised yourself, even only partly, in that description, then you and I share the same condition. Do you also, like me, see a beautifully bound volume and sigh longingly? Do you like to go into bookshops and just stand there absorbing the ambience of paper, glue and printer’s ink? Do you actually roll your eyes if someone is heard to say that it is possible to have too many books? Do you go out to buy a bottle of milk and end up smuggling a couple of books into the house? Yes to any of those and you are, without a doubt, a bibliomane.

 

 

 

There are, difficult as it is to believe, people out there who simply will not understand these thoughts and feelings. They, poor souls, have never known the spark that flies between the heart of a bibliophile and that simple bundle of paper that is not only a fragile object, but one of the most powerful things on the planet. They will never experience the joy that we feel when in the presence of a even a single book. To them it is paper and ink, to us, those of us who have achieved a higher state of being, it is much, much more than the sum of its parts.



So, now that you have accepted that you are, like me, an addict, how did this happen? What has happened that has left us defenseless against the lures of library and bookshop. Well, as I wrote previously, we followers of For Reading Addicts are a disparate group, and so there will be many different paths leading towards our addictive behaviour. I suppose that it is possible for someone to become a bibliophile without being first addicted to reading, but they will be a rare anomaly (and there are those, I’m sorry to remind you dear reader, for whom books are only for decoration! There will now be a moment of quiet to allow us to recover from that). However, for most of us, our love of books will have arisen from our daily fix of words. The process of reading, is, for us addicts, so soothing. The cares of the world vanish, however briefly, once we open the pages of a book. It has the power to lift our spirits, or move us to tears. It transforms us. Over time, for the lover of reading, these emotional experiences come not just from the process of the translation of strange squiggles into words, but also from the carrier of those squiggles. Just picking up a book is enough to calm us and put us in a better frame of mind. Knowing the pleasure to come, we do not need to open a book for it to begin working its magic. This is surely the first step on the road to being book addicted.

 

Do you remember learning to read? This thought came to me because I was recently reading the Poldark series by Winston Graham, in one of which he describes Demelza  learning to read and write, and in another how she helps her brother, Drake, to learn. I was struck by the effort required but also by the sense of achievement that they had once they felt confident in their newly acquired skills. It made me realise that I had never known that feeling. I have no memory of the first time I was able to look at a series of letters and know that it had a specific meaning. I was an early reader, so I cannot remember a time when I did not read, to me, reading is as much part of life as breathing. It isn’t something I choose to do, it is something I must do. I suspect that will be something else that we, the followers of For Reading Addicts, will share. The need to read goes beyond simple desire, after all I don’t desire to breathe, my body does it because it has to.

Words have always been part of my life. I have my mother to thank for that. I have no idea if she had some advanced theories, or whether she just followed her heart, but she apparently read to me whilst I was still in the womb. Obviously, I don’t remember, but the soundtrack to my development was a mixture of mum’s voice, her heart beating, and sundry gurgling noise (feel free to be imaginative on that point). She read anything and everything, newspapers, magazines, novels, probably even her knitting patterns. Research has shown that music can affect the baby as it develops, so why not a mother’s voice? The developing foetus begins to hear at about 18 weeks, so the first voice it hears will be heard for many weeks and many mother’s report that their new born seems to recognise their voice.



After I was born (not to a fanfare of trumpets, but to the worst storm anyone could remember – was that the gods saying “this one will be trouble”?) mum continued to read everything out loud. Eventually, once I was able to follow a story, children’s books replaced newspapers and so on. This lead to me reading at a very early age. Not for me a daily dose of Listen With Mother on the radio (that’s aged me!). Instead, I have memories of sitting next to her, a book across our laps. I realise that you, fellow addicts, will have your own paths to reading, but I believe something else many of us will have in common is this early introduction to words. (This link provides some information on the importance of reading aloud to young children ). I still love to listen to audio books, and when read, I hear the words in my head. This has to be the result of mum’s early efforts. The memory of a shared book is a treasured one, so it has to have been a significant influence. It was, and remains, a positive response to the feel of a book.

While looking for the link above, I came across this statement – “Children need parents to be their reading role models” (Source), and I imagine all of us who have developed a reading addiction can point to a significant person in the family who was that role model. From the previous paragraph, it will be no surprise that my mum was an addict. I can remember her always having a book to hand – she could even knit and read at the same time with nary a dropped stitch. To my child’s mind, mum and books were indivisible. Books were just there. They were nothing special but part of what considered day-to-day life. I suppose I must have had an epiphany at some stage when I noticed for the first time that other mothers were not the same. I even have a vague memory, possibly imagined, of being both surprised and confused that a school friend’s house was book free. However, it is probably the case that mums are the most common role model, and from them we learn our love of reading. Thinking of some of the wonderful artwork posted on For Reading Addicts, it is clear how many artists have painted female readers, perhaps the result of an early memory?

My dad may not have been a reader, in fact I suspect he never read a novel in his life, but he was still very influential – he set me on track of loving books. He built me my first bookshelves when I was very small, but I can still see them in my head, and he continued right through my childhood and teenage years, providing me with ever more elaborate shelving systems. Not for me a pile of books dumped on the floor or hidden in a cupboard (that comes later as my coĺlection outgrows the available space). Books had pride of place. Purpose built shelves gave me the desire to display my books, even though I was not yet a bibliophile. He even constructed a bed with built in shelves, encouraging me do develop a desire to have books close at hand. Where did you put your first books? Is there a clue to your later obsession with biblioporn? I’m fairly certain my first bookshelves have left their mark, but maybe your craving for a personal library (go on, admit it, you dream of the lottery win that will give you a room devoted to books) is the result of a lack of storage for your childhood treasures.



Perhaps your reading role model is the person who bought you your first book. I certainly don’t remember receiving my first book. My grandpa bought it on the day he was told mum was expecting me. Unfortunately, I don’t remember my grandpa, but I remember Grandpa’s Book. There were 365 stories and poems in it, one for each day, and it was part of my life for a number of years. What I remember best are not the stories or poems, but the book itself. It was, as you can imagine, huge, even by adult standards. But it was special because grandpa had died, and so I would hug the book, and stroke its covers. This was probably the starting point for my book addiction, that was the first book that was more than paper and ink. I’ve asked a few fellow addicts whether they had a special book when they were a child, and each one was able to describe a book in incredible detail. I am expecting that this will be another thing each of you has in common.

 

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Now it will come as no surprise to you that, as a retired teacher, I could carry on, with more and more examples of how my own addiction developed (do teachers ever shut up?), but I’m sure you can guess the rest. The route will be a familiar one – trips to the library, special presents, discovering a series of books, and so on. However, if you have travelled this far with me, then hopefully, some of the things I’ve described will have triggered your own memories about your path to an addiction with books. For a hugely disparate group, we probably have more in common than is first apparent. Certainly, none of you would ask that dreadful question “why do you have so many books?” or even worse “why do you need to buy another book?”. I’m sure none of you would be surprised if you came upon me gently stroking the covers of a book, or saw me riffling the pages of a book. You would recognise the look of contentment on my face.

As addicts, we are generally an easy going group (I wonder if anyone has been murdered by being hit by a book?). We are easy to occupy – somewhere to sit and a book and we are no trouble to anyone (unless they expect more than unintelligible grunts or deep sighs if they disturb us). We can be the ideal house guest as much of the time we don’t notice what we are eating and rarely move from one spot. There will be an issue about return invitations though, it can be difficult to find enough space for guests as our books occupy all the best bits, and it is dreadfully unnerving when you worry someone might actually touch one of your precious volumes. However, other than becoming overly protective of your library, however small, as far as addictions go, being addicted to books is generally harmless, hugely entertaining, extremely informative and eminently satisfying. Whether you are a bibliophile or a bibliomane, you will probably view the world quite calmly. It’s difficult to get overexcited about lesser issues when you are surrounded by books.

So, dear reader, admit your addiction with pride. Shout it from the roof tops, but never, ever, attend a meeting of Bookworms Anonymous – you would be very lonely on your own, though I’m sure you’d enjoy a quiet read.

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