that book meme

I read Ruth’s book meme when I came over to see who was this nice woman coming to comment here. I had a feeling then that I’d get tagged for this meme sooner or later and Sis promptly did so.

Books are scarce in the world. They are illegal in some provinces. They are not easily replaced, if not impossible to replace if lost in many if not most circumstances. If you can replace a book or buy one, it is usually through the black market at astronomical costs that you cannot afford. Yet you have been able to maintain one of the best collections in the world. If your entire library was about to burn up (think of the firefighters in Fahrenheit 451 invading your home) and you could only have one book to take with you other than the Bible, what would that be and why?

Simple Rules: Answer the question. Offer one quote that resonates with you. Tag five people whose response is of genuine interest to you and inform him or her that they have been tagged. Cheers!

I’m a re-reader; there’s a handful of faithful favorites that I read again and again because I love the characterizations or turns of phrases or scenes. But one that I count as a favorite is Jane Eyre. I remember seeing it in a catalog of books during one of those book fairs when I was in 7th grade (I was 11 or 12). The prices for books then must have been inexpensive because, though my parents had very little discretionary money at the time, they always let me buy a stack.

Some years later, my mom asked me to give up my beloved copy of Jane Eyre. She wanted to send it to her sister who, at that time, was still living in Vietnam. Though I willingly shared my book, I knew I would want another copy some day. I’ve got two copies now, I think, and I still read them from time to time always wondering what some of the references were (Rasselas, for one). I came across the digital version a few years ago and started to put in notes about allusions as I researched them.

This is a scene that nearly always brings tears to my eyes - when Jane’s dear friend Helen dies.  I think it resonates with me because I treasure close friendships.

And I clasped my arms closer round Helen; she seemed dearer to me than ever; I felt as if I could not let her go; I lay with my face hidden on her neck. Presently she said, in the sweetest tone -

“How comfortable I am! That last fit of coughing has tired me a little; I feel as if I could sleep: but don’t leave me, Jane; I like to have you near me.”

“I’ll stay with you, DEAR Helen: no one shall take me way.”

“Are you warm, darling?”

“Yes.”

“Good-night, Jane.”

“Good-night, Helen.”

She kissed me, and I her, and we both soon slumbered.

When I awoke it was day: an unusual movement roused me; I looked up; I was in somebody’s arms; the nurse held me; she was carrying me through the passage back to the dormitory. I was not reprimanded for leaving my bed; people had something else to think about; no explanation was afforded then to my many questions; but a day or two afterwards I learned that Miss Temple, on returning to her own room at dawn, had found me laid in the little crib; my face against Helen Burns’s shoulder, my arms round her neck. I was asleep, and Helen was–dead.

Her grave is in Brocklebridge churchyard: for fifteen years after her death it was only covered by a grassy mound; but now a grey marble tablet marks the spot, inscribed with her name, and the word “Resurgam.”

~ by nikkipolani on May 10, 2008.