My first book
It depends on the question. If asked “What is the last book you read?’, most of us will pause, pensively, before responding with something particular. If asked “What is the only book you’ve read?”… don’t go there; too sad to contemplate. And for the easy one “What is the first book you read?”, especially if you lived where I’ve lived, the response is simple. It was one of the variations of this book.
Although the cover might have had variations, over the years, the characters remained, memorable. Mind you, I didn’t live in a town with sidewalks, and I didn’t own roller skates (ever). My dog didn’t need a leash, and there were no cats in our house, due to allergies. I had siblings, though, so this book made sense. Even the word “neighbours” (there were none within a stone’s throw.
Check the various social forums. A lot of people with the same memories (could this be “cultore”?). Go online, in the various markets for the stuff out of other people’s closets. The books are available, if you’re willing to pay the price. This is where art emerges; you buy your first reader, and slowly, you move onto the hard drugs: oil paintings, bronze statues, rare tapestries.
I may have one of those readers, somewhere around here. Not my original, but a gift from a school principal, late one afternoon while we were trying to find stuff in the inevitable junk room in any school. If I find it again, I’ll treasure it. Maybe even try to read the book from cover to cover, to see if Spot ever learns to do something other than drag Dick through the streets of Anytown.
