Books, Books, Books

I haven't been in a blogging mood lately and I am not sure why. Maybe getting school started again has taken my energy or perhaps my tendency to be over-reflective at this time of year or the fact that I have been producing music rather than words has led to my blogging hiatus. Just not sure. Anyway, today I feel like discussing Larry McMurtry and books in general.

I have had a love of books for as long as I can remember. I am sure that my parents read to me as a child, for I recall The Little Engine that Could, Where the Wild Things Are, and unlimited Dr. Seuss, and I know my dad always had a story to fit every occasion, having heard the boy who cried wolf many times, and I'm sure I believed every story as the truth, and I have no doubt that while the stories had elements of truth, they were also laced with elements of creative imagination! Nevertheless, the love of books was instilled in me from inception, and I suspect a love of books, love of knowledge, words, stories, and ideas will remain with me until the Lord takes me home. My heart quickens when I enter a bookstore or a library, and the smell of books is almost as enticing as the feel of opening a book and seeing words.

And as a junior high student, replete with the expected immaturity and funny blend of arrogance and insecurity over my thin frame, quick mind, limited but expressive talent, eye for the ladies, and general confusion that accompanies all young teenagers, I began to read various authors such as but not limited to Steinbeck, Hemingway, Bellow, Huxley, Dreiser, McMurtry, Michener, John MacDonald, and Donald Hamilton. I also recall that odd and special day when my father and I entered a store, which if memory serves me was a Gibsons, and did the inevitable looking over the book rack. This was a normal event for us (which I thought was normal for everyone!) and usually resulted in the purchase of a paperback. This particular day I paused when I saw the title Tucker by western author Louis L'Amour, and in my youth I wondered idly if it might be a book about my dad. I recall reaching for it out of curiosity and seeing my father, who was reading through something else, glance over as I picked it up. He asked me if I wanted to buy the book and after a little discussion, he said "why not," and we bought it. In retrospect, I am now aware that Dad was always quick to buy us a book, and slow to buy us candy or a toy!

My tendency to immerse myself completely and totally in whatever the interest is at the time is both compulsive and rewarding. Whether it is the music of a certain composer, my latest interest being Stephen Sondheim, or a famous performer, or commodity trading, or political posturing, or the contributions of a historical figure, or the writings of a particular author (you may recall my obsession with reading every book by Philip Roth), I tend to learn everything I possibly can about that subject or person, bathing myself in knowledge and experience of that one thing, and then go on to something else. Unfortunately, this is an expensive habit that has caused many a discussion between my wife and me. Anyway, as a young teenager, I read L'Amour's Tucker, enjoyed it, as did my father, and subsequently, which took many years, read everything written by Louis L'Amour who along with countless others, mostly my parents, had an influence on my life in shaping who I am today.

I also recall reading Moving On by a relatively unknown author named Larry McMurtry, who later became known for Lonesome Dove and Comanche Moon, which although they along with Terms of Endearment and The Last Picture Show could be his most well-known are in reality simply some of his many great books. After reading Moving On, my interest in McMurtry's books increased, and I have remained in awe of his writing style, literary contributions, and his remarkable, gifted talent of writing stories with hidden meanings and deep philosophical significance. Although I have not yet read everything written by Mr. McMurtry, not all his books are easily available, I have read most of his books and continue to respect his career and his ability to tell a story.

And I recently had the great pleasure to meet him and to discuss books, for we do have something in common--a love of books. His eyes glowed as we talked about various authors and where to find certain books, along with the styles and contributions of writers living or deceased. I was a little startled to find him less interested in himself, particularly in that he has had an enviable career in Hollywood, and more interested in talking about other authors. I found him to be gracious, intelligent, perceptive, energetic, friendly, and quite ingratiating as we shared our views and interests in books. I wanted more time but alas he was busy and I needed to go. But the time spent talking to Mr. McMurtry was meaningful, and I will always appreciate our few moments together.

If you are looking for something to read, or just curious about authors, I always enjoy a good book discussion and have many recommendations. Reading broadens our world, entertains us, teaches us, and demonstrates the wonders of the human creative spirit by presenting facts and imagination using the written word. It is my hope and belief that no matter how advanced our technological universe becomes, and I write this with great irony considering my enjoyment of computers, that the collective and individual desire to hold a book in hand will remain forever. Thank you Mom and Dad for giving me a love of books.