I am in a state of shock.
It’s late May, Memorial Day Weekend, and I am at the beach with my children and grandchildren. Despite dire predictions of storms, the sun is shining and the kids are in the tiny pool below my deck, no doubt delighting the neighbors with their constant shrieks and shrill cries. Their parents are in fine fettle, and food and drink are plentiful. Though not located directly on the beach, our house offers a splendid view of sea oats, dunes, and blue-green ocean.
Paradise, yes?
Not entirely. In terms of books, reading, and the future of civilization, we are vacationing in hell.
It’s late May, Memorial Day Weekend, and I am at the beach with my children and grandchildren. Despite dire predictions of storms, the sun is shining and the kids are in the tiny pool below my deck, no doubt delighting the neighbors with their constant shrieks and shrill cries. Their parents are in fine fettle, and food and drink are plentiful. Though not located directly on the beach, our house offers a splendid view of sea oats, dunes, and blue-green ocean.
Paradise, yes?
Not entirely. In terms of books, reading, and the future of civilization, we are vacationing in hell.
Before explaining, allow me to provide some background information. Since selling my home in Waynesville and moving into an apartment, I have annually gathered my children for a week of beach-time in Emerald Isle, North Carolina. In the past nine years, we have rented four different coastal homes. We began in a four-bedroom house with one grandchild and have expanded now into a seven-room house. (From a regard for the mental health of those concerned about overpopulation, I will refrain from giving an exact count of the grandchildren presently under the roof. Suffice it to say that in numbers they could comprise a football team with several subs.)
Now, one of the delights of the beach for any bibliophile is reading. We lovers of literature pack our books with care, generally leaning toward paperbacks that can take a splash of ocean water or suntan oil and can stand the trials of sand and wind and sun. In my case, I usually pack a detective novel or two, some light piece of fiction, a biography or narrative history.
At any rate, I thought it might be fun in this review to offer a view of beach house books. If you’ve ever rented one of these houses, you know precisely what I mean. The owners of these homes place bookshelves in places like the den, kitchen, and bar, and in some cases in the bedrooms themselves, and then toss some books on the shelves. Guests take some of these books while leaving others, and soon you have a wonderful hodge-podge of beach books. Such collections lean heavily to best-selling authors—Mary Higgins Clark, Danielle Steele, John Grisham, Nicholas Sparks, Robert Ludlum, and so on. Occasionally, I’ve found interesting books about coastal birds or seafood cookery.
As I said, I arrived at our present location intending to review some of the books in the house.
Friends and readers, this home has no bookcases. It has no weather-beaten novels, no sauce-stained cookbooks, no well-thumbed local histories.
In this entire house I have found two books. Kathryn Andrews Fincher’s Little Lessons in Faith: Seeing God Through the Eyes of a Child lay centered on the coffee table in the den. Little Lessons in Faith is an attractive, well-written book with some nice art, but at 48 pages it hardly constitutes a library.
So here I am in a wonderful house with three decks, a fine den and dining room, a spacious kitchen, seven bedrooms, a movie room aka a media room, and a tiny billiards parlor. There are at least nine televisions. (The one in my bedroom has four separate control gadgets sitting in front of the screen. I took one look and immediately gave up any idea of watching the tube.)
And no books. Except for Lessons in Faith. I could doubtless gain some spiritual wisdom from Lessons, but don’t intend to mention the book again in this review.
The second volume is a guest book, which doesn’t even qualify as a real book. Some of the comments by guests provide a bit of entertainment. From July 4-11, 2015, someone wrote “Didn’t go into the ocean because of shark attacks,” a comment I will keep hidden from the grandchildren, not because I want a few of them weeded out but because they’d be terrified forever of two feet of salty water. Another guest wrote “Ice machine worthless—buy ice!”, an observation with which my family and I all heartily concur.
On each page of the guest book are categories for comment—the weather, favorite adventures, recommended restaurants. The last category is “Other Thoughts To Share.” Here are my “Thoughts To Share.”
“Dear owners,
“You have a wonderful beach house, and our family loves renting from you.
“Your house is, however, missing one necessity for the beach vacationers: a bookcase, preferably three or four of them, packed with paperbacks perfumed by sun lotion, books that dribble sand into the lap on being opened, dog-eared books whose pages are yellowed from the sun or wrinkled by the rain.
“Such books would cost you almost nothing. Ferret out a couple of box-loads of best sellers at your local library sale or yard sale. Fill your bookcase with your acquisitions. (You might seek out a few picture books on sharks and shark attacks for the edification and amusement of small children.)
“Do this, and we shall return to your pleasant home. Do it not, and we shall never darken your door again.”
Ouch.
I just read these “Thoughts To Share” to my daughter, who, lacking a book, whacked me upside the head with my grandson’s sand shovel. “What are you, Crazy?” she said. “Your grandkids love this place.” (I made this part up. My daughter sometimes thinks I’m a little nuts, but so far has never whacked me.)
Okay. No review for the guest book. But next year I am bringing a box of books. I will invest in a small bookcase. I will place the bookcase in the corner of the den and stock it with my cheap paperbacks. Those books will then attract other books.
If I build it, they will come.
Now, one of the delights of the beach for any bibliophile is reading. We lovers of literature pack our books with care, generally leaning toward paperbacks that can take a splash of ocean water or suntan oil and can stand the trials of sand and wind and sun. In my case, I usually pack a detective novel or two, some light piece of fiction, a biography or narrative history.
At any rate, I thought it might be fun in this review to offer a view of beach house books. If you’ve ever rented one of these houses, you know precisely what I mean. The owners of these homes place bookshelves in places like the den, kitchen, and bar, and in some cases in the bedrooms themselves, and then toss some books on the shelves. Guests take some of these books while leaving others, and soon you have a wonderful hodge-podge of beach books. Such collections lean heavily to best-selling authors—Mary Higgins Clark, Danielle Steele, John Grisham, Nicholas Sparks, Robert Ludlum, and so on. Occasionally, I’ve found interesting books about coastal birds or seafood cookery.
As I said, I arrived at our present location intending to review some of the books in the house.
Friends and readers, this home has no bookcases. It has no weather-beaten novels, no sauce-stained cookbooks, no well-thumbed local histories.
In this entire house I have found two books. Kathryn Andrews Fincher’s Little Lessons in Faith: Seeing God Through the Eyes of a Child lay centered on the coffee table in the den. Little Lessons in Faith is an attractive, well-written book with some nice art, but at 48 pages it hardly constitutes a library.
So here I am in a wonderful house with three decks, a fine den and dining room, a spacious kitchen, seven bedrooms, a movie room aka a media room, and a tiny billiards parlor. There are at least nine televisions. (The one in my bedroom has four separate control gadgets sitting in front of the screen. I took one look and immediately gave up any idea of watching the tube.)
And no books. Except for Lessons in Faith. I could doubtless gain some spiritual wisdom from Lessons, but don’t intend to mention the book again in this review.
The second volume is a guest book, which doesn’t even qualify as a real book. Some of the comments by guests provide a bit of entertainment. From July 4-11, 2015, someone wrote “Didn’t go into the ocean because of shark attacks,” a comment I will keep hidden from the grandchildren, not because I want a few of them weeded out but because they’d be terrified forever of two feet of salty water. Another guest wrote “Ice machine worthless—buy ice!”, an observation with which my family and I all heartily concur.
On each page of the guest book are categories for comment—the weather, favorite adventures, recommended restaurants. The last category is “Other Thoughts To Share.” Here are my “Thoughts To Share.”
“Dear owners,
“You have a wonderful beach house, and our family loves renting from you.
“Your house is, however, missing one necessity for the beach vacationers: a bookcase, preferably three or four of them, packed with paperbacks perfumed by sun lotion, books that dribble sand into the lap on being opened, dog-eared books whose pages are yellowed from the sun or wrinkled by the rain.
“Such books would cost you almost nothing. Ferret out a couple of box-loads of best sellers at your local library sale or yard sale. Fill your bookcase with your acquisitions. (You might seek out a few picture books on sharks and shark attacks for the edification and amusement of small children.)
“Do this, and we shall return to your pleasant home. Do it not, and we shall never darken your door again.”
Ouch.
I just read these “Thoughts To Share” to my daughter, who, lacking a book, whacked me upside the head with my grandson’s sand shovel. “What are you, Crazy?” she said. “Your grandkids love this place.” (I made this part up. My daughter sometimes thinks I’m a little nuts, but so far has never whacked me.)
Okay. No review for the guest book. But next year I am bringing a box of books. I will invest in a small bookcase. I will place the bookcase in the corner of the den and stock it with my cheap paperbacks. Those books will then attract other books.
If I build it, they will come.