Letting go

It taught me that the life of a book really begins when a reader turns to first page. The moment this happens, its fate is out of the creator's hands.

Christopher Fowler, The Book of Forgotten Authors

Christopher Fowler

Christopher Fowler is remembering his youthful days when he would scour discounted book tables and grab any affordable title that looked interesting — or any cover that looked sexy. Later his mother would sort through his purchases and toss out anything she considered inappropriate. Then the real fun would begin — opening the books one at a time to determine whether they were really trash or treasure.

I like his memories, so similar to my own, but I especially like his comment that the life of a book really begins when a reader opens it and starts reading. Christians talk about being born again. A book is born again each time a reader opens it, whether that's just after its publication or 50 years or even a thousand years later. Books can live forever, but only if they continue to be read.

A book on a shelf is like a bear in hibernation. It's inert, just waiting for the day when it can come back to life again.

To some extent this is true of any movie, piece of music or virtually any work of art that requires not just an artist but also an audience to be complete. The creator may know what he or she is trying to say but it is those at the other end of the process who determine what, if anything, the work actually says. Is it any good? The creator's opinion is not the one that matters.

Writers do their best, then must eventually, assuming publication, let their books go. They are like parents suddenly experiencing an empty nest. Will their offspring thrive, improve the lives of others and survive for a long time? Now it's all out of their hands.