When Magic Happens—the Serendipity of Finding a Favorite Book

“If you don’t like to read, you haven’t found the right book.” ―J.K. Rowling

“A well-read woman is a dangerous creature.” — Lisa Kleypas, A Wallflower Christmas

“Where is human nature so weak as in a bookstore?” —Henry Ward Beecher, Star Papers

“Books are a uniquely portable magic.” —Stephen King, On Writing

“In a word, literature is my utopia.” —Helen Keller, The Story of My Life

“You can never get a cup of tea large enough or a book long enough to suit me.” - C.S. Lewis

SPOILER ALERT—I am about to divulge details of one of my favorite books. If you have not read REBECCA by Daphne du Maurier, you might want to save this blog entry until you do.

You see, this novel is one of my favorite books of all time, and I shall endeavor to share how this happened. I would imagine most people have a “favorite book” story.

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When Magic Happens—the Serendipity of Finding a Favorite Book

Do you recall the moment you knew that you loved reading with all your heart and soul and that it would be a part of you forever? Can you reprise that very instant when time stood still and things crystallized and you just knew this truism?

I can recall that exact moment. My folks and I were taking a friend to visit a couple she knew in another state. I was thirteen and nothing could sound duller than that. But we loaded the car and headed for Tennessee to visit this couple—a minister and his wife--it kept getting better. (Now if I must divulge all I was thinking, I would add that I was looking forward to this as much as having a root canal—I would have to attempt to be perfect for a week.) But, at thirteen you are the captive of your parents and their commitments and vagaries—and that flat-handed whack that mothers like mine had perfected to an art form when smacking the derriere of rude daughters. So off we went, loaded down with an antique bureau that was being returned to the couple—preparing to crawl our way over mountain roads until we reached their home in Tennessee.

There were introductions, the process of getting settled in and then came some time to get to know these new friends who welcomed us so kindly. Right out of the gate I was smitten. The retired minister had a wonderful sense of humor and treated me as if I were truly part of the group. His wife? Well, after my mother she was one of those women one hails as a “paragon.” She taught algebra at the local high school, played the piano like a virtuoso, was the 3 times quilting champion of the State of Tennessee, canned all her own food from their garden and cooked without recipes. Her “garage” was my favorite place because she had commandeered it to be her building—half full of homemade canned goods and the rest of the place was filled with books. It was as if I had died and and gone to heaven.

I was free to browse and read anything on the shelves and it was at this time I discovered the novel, Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier. It was a scintillating mixture of a look at England, a love story, a shy heroine and a macabre and thoroughly evil character that haunted our heroine from the grave. Rebecca was the first wife of Maxim de Winter and his second wife was the shy woman lacking confidence and the ability to oversee an English manor with the same skill of wife number one.

She suffered so, being taunted by the head housekeeper, Mrs. Danvers, who saw the new wife as the usurper of a throne and an annoyance, not to mention a bumpkin type lacking social graces. Mrs. Danvers was deranged and obsessed with her adoration of wife number one, Rebecca. Mrs. De Winter 2 was taunted, kept in the dark (except about the perfect demeanor of the former mistress of Manderley, their home) and at one point practically dared to jump out a high window, about three stories up.

Needless to say, I could not put this continual best seller down. I read recently that it has never been out of print since its first publication—what a boon that I found it so early. I read like a fiend on the nights of our visit when I was supposed to be sleeping. I could not rest until I had finished this thriller.

It was that simple act of finding a single book that set the stage for all my future serious reading. In the grammar school I had attended we had a small library and we had weekly time allotted to explore and read. Some of my best book memories come from the stories I unearthed there. But even though I read a lot, nothing had galvanized my desire to read as much as REBECCA. It began my journey in earnest to read in every spare moment I could steal from life.

And so it goes, I am still obsessed in the same fashion at the age of 79. I just discovered to my horror that my library card has lapsed and I shall take care of that posthaste. I had a fear that I might be arrested by the thought police and taken to a jail where . . . they allowed NO BOOKS!

If I had to confess to a single area in which I overspend, it would be in the purchase of books. They know me well at AMAZON and THRIFTBOOKS, buying way beyond the number of books I shall be able to finish before I die. It is indeed an obsession, but a magnificent obsession. So, go forth, dear reader, and find a book, and perhaps a tree to sit under and read, read for all you’re worth. It is a pastime that will serve you well and fill hour upon hour with pleasure.