When Books Invade (But Make It Friendly)

To read is human

Photo by Pickawood on Unsplash

Shortly after we moved to Ohio, my talented friend and fellow homeschooling-mom-and-writer

Dixie Dillon Lane

sent me Shirley Jackson’s hilarious memoir of literary motherhood, Life Among the Savages. In a particularly relatable moment, Jackson describes directing her creative efforts to somehow cram all the books in the family’s possession into their house. They end up lining the upstairs hallway with bookcases, which solves the problem for a time. Except, of course, one keeps acquiring books, and most people who regularly acquire books are not so good at getting rid of other books—unlike, say, worn out shirts or old sweaters. (Although, as a matter of fact, before we married, my husband used to hoard orphaned socks.)

That’s basically where we are right now. I spent some time recently measuring our upstairs hallway to discern if we could go (Shirley) Jacksonian here. Alas, it’s probably too narrow to pull this off, especially since the 6-year-old uses the hallway to roller-skate.

Now I’m looking into built-in bookshelf solutions for other nooks and crannies around the house. This may not end well (cue ominous music). Husband scared, send help.

Why read?

Of course, the entire problem could be resolved or altogether avoided by reading less—or at least acquiring fewer physical books. Indeed, I suppose there’s always the hypothetical option of culling some of the family collection. (I’ll give us both a minute while we laugh.)

Okay, now that we’ve accepted that culling isn’t really an option (although, to be fair, we do rely very extensively on the local public library these days for our reading), perhaps the question to confront head-on is one that we take for granted: Why read—and why read so much as to create this book hoarding problem?

My love of reading is connected to my love of writing. I am not sure that anyone could genuinely love writing if they didn’t love reading first—although it is possible and, in fact, quite common, for people who love reading to not love writing. Creator God has called all of us to create, but not everyone feels called to create words. Some create art of other sorts—baking, planting, sewing, painting, making music, arranging flowers, and more. [Incidentally, I recommend this beautiful reflection Jeff Bilbro just wrote for Current this week—about why he commits “random acts of poetry” for joy]

But for Christians, of course, reading is more than just entertainment and a love of words beautifully put together. The Teacher in Ecclesiastes can complain that “of the making of books there is no end,” but he does so while writing his own book. And that book is part of a much larger book—the Bible.

This point is key. God has always communicated with people through words—from the beginning of creation, when He made the entire world by words, and then through Christ, Word Incarnate. This love of words—and the ability to speak them ourselves!—is what separates people, God’s image bearers from all other creatures, whether it be animals or plants. We love words, including the words we read, because God made us to communicate in this way. To read the Bible means to get to know better the heart of God. And we ultimately most love reading (and, in some cases, writing) words that make us feel known, loved, understood.

But even if you don’t care about the theological reasons, how about this one: in this age of AI threats and the decline of literacy all around, “Home Libraries Will Save Civilization” (as I argued in Front Porch Republic back in the fall). Why?

Because a home overcrowded with books sets the tone for how its inhabitants spend their time at home. Bored? Read a book. Want something to do for fun? Read a book. Have friends over? Read a book together. Relaxed family night at home? Start a read-aloud.

When books are everywhere, they distract us with their presence in a good way—they demand to be read, shaping the people around them in small but meaningful ways, moment by moment, page by page. They send us on rabbit trails to find yet more books on related topics, to ask friends for recommendations, and sometimes just to sit quietly and reflect, overcome with an emotion sparked by an author who has been dead for centuries but one that expresses the state of our soul in this moment.

To read is human. (To write should be too.)

Latest Review of Mothers, Children, and the Body Politic

Gifted poet, essayist, and mother J. C. Scharl reviewed my book for Liberty & Religion. A taste:

Weaving together keen sociological insights, retellings of ancient myths and histories, and thoughtful application of Scripture to current affairs, Williams exposes our culture’s darkest assumption: that each person is worth only as much as he or she can contribute to society. This begins by devaluing motherhood, Williams says, for then we devalue everyone who devotes his or her life to caring for those who cannot care for themselves or offer anything to the world except themselves. Every time we let someone say, “Oh, I’m just a mom,” and don’t honor her work, we let stand the idea that serving the vulnerable is somehow a lesser existence—when in reality it is the foundation of any society that hopes to survive.

Mothers, Children, and the Body Politic is a wide-ranging survey of the ways contemporary culture has lost sight of that truth, and a bracing call for each of us to defy the pressures to valorize productivity, and instead find ways to honor the vulnerable around us.

A Book Recommendation: Marvin Olasky, Pivot Points

So, this one may not take room on your physical shelf (although you could get a physical copy), but Current is grateful for the publisher’s permission to serialize Marvin Olasky’s spiritual memoir, Pivot Points: Adventures on the Road to Christian Contentment. You can read a chapter a day for the next while at The Arena blog at Current, and here are the links to the chapters out so far:

Introduction and Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5